THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


From  the  collection  of 
Julius  Doerner,  Chicago 
Purchased,  1918. 

814 

Em3e 

se-c.  2 


1858 


I  /  ;i 

S%,'JL  Cflst- •  <*  ■&-<'  i£-*.  tS  G&*C~*r  »#  *■  *'  ..  .  '  l>  ,t:<’  " 

*>  :irc/f  4  1  ’  >■"'.•  -  '  £ 


«*■» 


-■i  *  l 


„  i  &■  *.**  u  ^  c*  t~  '  '■ 

A 

ti-  /  $ 


£>-fr*~.jx- ^  A  AA'-  * 


<»  i  /i  t  J  ^  '  "  1  *  :jr::;,  -  .■  & 


/ 


A  * 

-'■  V  •* 


ESSAYS: 


SECOND  SERIES, 


I 


ESSAYS: 

♦ 

SECOND  SERIES. 


R.  W.  EMERSON, 


Htrltfon. 


BOSTON; 

PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  AND  COMPANY. 

185  8. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON  &  CO., 


in  the  Clerk’s  Oilice  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


hughes 


HUGHES 

/  ‘Sr  ty^f 

•  \ 

CONTENTS. 

ESSAY  I. 

PAGE 

The  Poet,  .  . 

• 

ESSAY  n. 

V' 

Expedience, 

ESSAY  m. 

....  49 

Character,  .  , 

ESSAY  IV. 

Manners,  .  .  . 

ESSAY  V. 

Gifts,  .  .  .  , 

ESSAY  VI. 

Nature,  .  .  , 

....  165 

1* 


6 


CONTENTS. 


ESSAY  VII. 

Politics, . 193 

ESSAY  VIH. 

Nominalist  and  Realist,  . . 217 

NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 

Lecture  at  Amory  Hall, . 243 

zt'f  Jester*  r  rfsfe 

ec  fur* 

/7*c£  Jo.  / 


THE  POET. 


A  moody  child  and  wildly  wise 
Pursued  the  game  with  joyful  eyes, 

Which  chose,  like  meteors,  their  way, 

And  rived  the  dark  with  private  ray  ; 

They  overleapt  the  horizon’s  edge, 

Searched  with  Apollo’s  privilege ; 

Through  man,  and  woman,  and  sea,  and  star, 

Saw  the  dance  of  nature  forward  far ; 

Through  worlds,  and  races,  and  terms,  and  times, 
Saw  musical  order,  and  pairing  rhymes. 


Olympian  bards  who  sung 
Divine  ideas  below, 

Which  always  find  us  young. 
And  always  keep  us  so. 


ESSAY  I. 


THE  POET. 


Those  who  are  esteemed  umpires  of  taste,  are 
often  persons  who  have  acquired  some  knowledge 
of  admired  pictures  or  sculptures,  and  have  an  incli¬ 
nation  for  whatever  is  elegant ;  but  if  you  inquire 
whether  they  are  beautiful  souls,  and  whether  their 
own  acts  are  like  fair  pictures,  you  learn  that  they 
are  selfish  and  sensual.  Their  cultivation  is  local, 
as  if  you  should  rub  a  log  of  dry  wood  in  one  spot 
to  produce  fire,  all  the  rest  remaining  cold.  Their 
knowledge  of  the  fine  arts  is  some  study  of  rules 
and  particulars,  or  some  limited  judgment  of  color 
or  form,  which  is  exercised  for  amusement  or  for 
show.  It  is  a  proof  of  the  shallowness  of  the  doc¬ 
trine  of  beauty,  as  it  lies  in  the  minds  of  our  ama¬ 
teurs,  that  men  seem  to  have  lost  the  perception  of 
the  instant  dependence  of  form  upon  soul.  There 
is  no  doctrine  of  forms  in  our  philosophy.  We 
were  put  into  our  bodies,  as  fire  is  put  into  a  pan, 


10 


ESSAY  I. 


to  be  carried  about ;  but  there  is  no  accurate  ad¬ 
justment  between  the  spirit  and  the  organ,  much 
less  is  the  latter  the  germination  of  the  former.  So 
in  regard  to  other  forms,  the  intellectual  men  do 
not  believe  in  any  essential  dependence  of  the  ma¬ 
terial  world  on  thought  and  volition.  Theologians 
think  it  a  pretty  air-castle  to  talk  of  the  spiritual 
meaning  of  a  ship  or  a  cloud,  of  a  city  or  a  con¬ 
tract,  but  they  prefer  to  come  again  to  the  solid 
ground  of  historical  evidence  ;  and  even  the  poets 
are  contented  with  a  civil  and  conformed  manner 
of  living,  and  to  write  poems  from  the  fancy,  at  a 
safe  distance  from  their  own  experience.  But  the 
highest  minds  of  the  world  have  never  ceased  to 
explore  the  double  meaning,  or,  shall  I  say,  the 
quadruple,  or  the  centuple,  or  much  more  manifold 
meaning,  of  every  sensuous  fact :  Orpheus,  Em¬ 
pedocles,  Heraclitus,  Plato,  Plutarch,  Dante,  Swe¬ 
denborg,  and  the  masters  of  sculpture,  picture,  and 
poetry.  For  we  are  not  pans  and  barrows,  nor 
even  porters  of  the  fire  and  torch-bearers,  but  chil¬ 
dren  of  the  fire,  made  of  it,  and  only  the  same  di¬ 
vinity  transmuted,  and  at  two  or  three  removes, 
when  we  know  least  about  it.  And  this  hidden 
truth,  that  the  fountains  when  all  this  river  of 
Time,  and  its  creatures,  floweth,  are  intrinsically 
ideal  and  beautiful,  draws  us  to  the  consideration 
of  the  nature  and  functions  of  the  Poet,  or  the 


THE  POET. 


11 


man  of  Beauty,  to  the  means  and  materials  he 
uses,  and  to  the  general  aspect  of  the  art  in  the 
present  time. 

The  breadth  of  the  problem  is  great,  for  the 
poet  is  representative.  He  stands  among  partial 
men  for  the  complete  man,  and  apprises  us  not  of 
his  wealth,  but  of  the  commonwealth.  The 
young  man  reveres  men  of  genius,  because,  to 
speak  truly,  they  are  more  himself  than  he  is. 
They  receive  of  the  soul  as  he  also  receives,  but 
they  more.  Nature  enhances  her  beauty,  to  the 
eye  of  loving  men,  from  their  belief  that  the  poet 
is  beholding  her  shows  at  the  same  time.  He  is 
isolated  among  his  contemporaries,  by  truth  and 
by  his  art,  but  with  this  consolation  in  his  pur¬ 
suits,  that  they  will  draw  all  men  sooner  or  later. 
For  all  men  live  by  truth,  and  stand  in  need  of 
expression.  In  love,  in  art,  in  avarice,  in  politics, 
in  labor,  in  games,  we  study  to  utter  our  painful 
secret.  The  man  is  only  half  himself,  the  other 
half  is  his  expression. 

Notwithstanding  this  necessity  to  be  published, 
adequate  expression  is  rare.  I  know  not  how  it 
is  that  we  need  an  interpreter ;  but  the  great 
majority  of  men  seem  to  be  minors,  who  have 
not  yet  come  into  possession  of  their  own,  or 
mutes,  who  cannot  report  the  conversation  they 
have  had  with  nature.  There  is  no  man  who 


12 


ESSAY  I. 


does  not  anticipate  a  supersensual  utility  in  the 
sun,  and  stars,  earth,  and  water.  These  stand  and 
wait  to  render  him  a  peculiar  service.  But  there 
is  some  obstruction,  or  some  excess  of  phlegm  in 
our  constitution,  which  does  not  suffer  them  to 
yield  the  due  effect.  Too  feeble  fall  the  impres¬ 
sions  of  nature  on  us  to  make  us  artists.  Every 
touch  should  thrill.  Every  man  should  be  so 
much  an  artist,  that  he  could  report  in  conversa¬ 
tion  what  had  befallen  him.  Yet,  in  our  experi¬ 
ence,  the  rays  or  appulses  have  sufficient  force  to 
arrive  at  the  senses,  but  not  enough  to  reach  the 
quick,  and  compel  the  reproduction  of  themselves 
in  speech.  The  poet  is  the  person  in  whom  these 
powers  are  in  balance,  the  man  without  impedi¬ 
ment,  who  sees  and  handles  that  which  others 
dream  of,  traverses  the  whole  scale  of  experience, 
and  is  representative  of  man,  in  virtue  of  being 
the  largest  power  to  receive  and  to  impart. 

For  the  Universe  has  three  children,  born  at  one 
time,  which  reappear,  under  different  names,  in 
every  system  of  thought,  whether  they  be  called 
cause,  operation,  and  effect ;  or,  more  poetically, 
Jove,  Pluto,  Neptune  j  or,  theologically,  the  Father, 
the  Spirit,  and  the  Son  ;  but  which  we  will  call 
here,  the  Knower,  the  Doer,  and  the  Sayer.  These 
stand  respectively  for  the  love  of  truth,  for  the  love 
of  good,  and  for  the  love  of  beauty.  These  three 


THE  POET. 


1  o 
lo 

are  equal.  Each  is  that  which  he  is  essentially,  so 
that  he  cannot  be  surmounted  or  analyzed,  and 
each  of  these  three  has  the  power  of  the  others 
latent  in  him,  and  his  own  patent. 

The  poet  is  the  sayer,  the  namer,  and  represents 
beauty.  He  is  a  sovereign,  and  stands  on  the  cen¬ 
tre.  For  the  world  is  not  painted,  or  adorned,  but 
is  from  the  beginning  beautiful ;  and  God  has  not 
made  some  beautiful  things,  but  Beauty  is  the  cre¬ 
ator  of  the  universe.  Therefore  the  poet  is  not 
any  permissive  potentate,  but  is  emperor  in  his 
own  right.  Criticism  is  infested  with  a  cant  of 
materialism,  which  assumes  that  manual  skill  and 
activity  is  the  first  merit  of  all  men,  and  dispar¬ 
ages  such  as  say  and  do  not,  overlooking  the  fact, 
that  some  men,  namely,  poets,  are  natural  savers, 
sent  into  the  world  to  the  end  of  expression,  and 
confounds  them  with  those  whose  province  is  ac¬ 
tion,  but  who  quit  it  to  imitate  the  sayers.  But 
Homer’s  words  are  as  costly  and  admirable  to 
Homer,  as  Agamemnon’s  victories  are  to  Agamem¬ 
non.  The  poet  does  not  wait  for  the  hero  or  the 
sage,  but,  as  they  act  and  think  primarily,  so  he 
writes  primarily  what  will  and  must  be  spoken, 
reckoning  the  others,  though  primaries  also,  yet. 
in  respect  to  him,  secondaries  and  servants ;  as  sit¬ 
ters  or  models  in  the  studio  of  a  painter,  or  as  assist¬ 
ants  who  bring  building  materials  to  an  architect. 

2 


14 


ESSAY  I. 


For  poetry  was  all  written  before  time  was,  and 
whenever  we  are  so  finely  organized  that  we  can 
penetrate  into  that  region  where  the  air  is  music, 
we  hear  those  primal  warblings,  and  attempt  to 
write  them  down,  but  we  lose  ever  and  anon  a 
word,  or  a  verse,  and  substitute  something  of  our 
own,  and  thus  miswrite  the  poem.  The  men  of 
more  delicate  ear  write  down  these  cadences  more 
faithfully,  and  these  transcripts,  though  imperfect, 
become  the  songs  of  the  nations.  For  nature  is 
as  truly  beautiful  as  it  is  good,  or  as  it  is  reason¬ 
able,  and  must  as  much  appear,  as  it  must  be  done, 
or  be  known.  Words  and  deeds  are  quite  indif¬ 
ferent  modes  of  the  divine  energy.  Words  are  also 
actions,  and  actions  are  a  kind  of  words. 

The  sign  and  credentials  of  the  poet  are,  that  he 
announces  that  which  no  man  foretold.  He  is  the 
true  and  only  doctor ;  he  knows  and  tells ;  he 
is  the  only  teller  of  news,  for  he  was  present  and 
privy  to  the  appearance  which  he  describes.  He 
is  a  beholder  of  ideas,  and  an  utterer  of  the  neces¬ 
sary  and  causal.  For  we  do  not  speak  now  of 
men  of  poetical  talents,  or  of  industry  and  skill  in 
metre,  but  of  the  true  poet.  I  took  part  in  a  conver¬ 
sation,  the  other  day,  concerning  a  recent  writer 
of  lyrics,  a  man  of  subtle  mind,  whose  head  appeared 
to  be  a  music-box  of  delicate  tunes  and  rhythms, 
and  whose  skill,  and  command  of  language,  we 


THE  POET. 


15 


could  not  sufficiently  praise.  But  when  the  ques¬ 
tion  arose,  whether  he  was  not  only  a  lyrist,  but  a 
poet,  we  were  obliged  to  confess  that  he  is  plainly 
a  contemporary,  not  an  eternal  man.  He  does  not 
stand  out  of  our  low  limitations,  like  a  Chimborazo 
under  the  line,  running  up  from  a  torrid  base 
through  all  the  climates  of  the  globe,  with  belts  of 
the  herbage  of  every  latitude  on  its  high  and  mot¬ 
tled  sides  ;  but  this  genius  is  the  landscape-garden 
of  a  modern  house,  adorned  with  fountains  and 
statues,  with  well-bred  men  and  women  standing 
and  sitting  in  the  walks  and  terraces.  We  hear, 
through  all  the  varied  music,  the  ground-tone  of 
conventional  life.  Our  poets  are  men  of  talents  who 
sing,  and  not  the  children  of  music.  The  argument 
is  secondary,  the  finish  of  the  verses  is  primary. 

For  it  is  not  metres,  but  a  metre-making  ar¬ 
gument,  that  makes  a  poem,  —  a  thought  so  pas¬ 
sionate  and  alive,  that,  like  the  spirit  of  a  plant 
or  an  animal,  it  has  an  architecture  of  its  own,  and 
adorns  nature  with  a  new  thing.  The  thought  and 
the  form  are  equal  in  the  order  of  time,  but  in  the 
order  of  genesis  the  thought  is  prior  to  the  form. 
The  poet  has  a  new  thought :  he  has  a  whole  new 
experience  to  unfold  ;  he  will  tell  us  how  it  was 
with  him,  and  all  men  will  be  the  richer  in  his  for¬ 
tune.  For  the  experience  of  each  new  age  requires 
a  new  confession,  and  the  world  seems  always 


16 


ESSAY  1. 


waiting  for  its  poet.  I  remember,  when  I  was 
young,  how  much  I  was  moved  one  morning  by 
tidings  that  genius  had  appeared  in  a  youth  who 
sat  near  me  at  table.  He  had  left  his  work,  and 
gone  rambling  none  knew  whither,  and  had  writ¬ 
ten  hundreds  of  lines,  but  could  not  tell  whether 
that  which  was  in  him  was  therein  told  :  he  could 
tell  nothing  but  that  all  was  changed,  — man,  beast, 
heaven,  earth,  and  sea.  How  gladly  we  listened  ! 
how  credulous  !  Society  seemed  to  be  compro¬ 
mised.  We  sat  in  the  aurora  of  a  sunrise  which 
was  to  put  out  all  the  stars.  Boston  seemed  to  be 
at  twice  the  distance  it  had  the  night  before,  or 
was  much  farther  than  that.  Rome,  —  what  was 
Rome  ?  Plutarch  and  Shakspeare  were  in  the  yel¬ 
low  leaf,  and  Homer  no  more  should  be  heard  of. 
It  is  much  to  know  that  poetry  has  been  written 
this  very  day,  under  this  very  roof,  by  your  side. 
What !  that  wonderful  spirit  has  not  expired ! 
These  stony  moments  are  still  sparkling  and  ani¬ 
mated  !  I  had  fancied  that  the  oracles  were  all 
silent,  and  nature  had  spent  her  fires,  and  behold ! 
all  night,  from  every  pore,  these  fine  auroras  have 
been  streaming.  Every  one  has  some  interest  in 
the  advent  of  the  poet,  and  no  one  knows  how 
much  it  may  concern  him.  We  know  that  the 
secret  of  the  world  is  profound,  but  who  or  what 
shall  be  our  interpreter,  we  know  not.  A  mourn 


THE  POET. 


17 


tain  ramble,  a  new  style  of  face,  a  new  person,  may 
put  the  key  into  our  hands.  Of  course,  the  value  of 
genius  to  us  is  in  the  veracity  of  its  report.  Talent 
may  frolic  and  juggle  ;  genius  realizes  and  adds. 
Mankind,  in  good  earnest,  have  availed  so  far  in 
understanding  themselves  and  their  work,  that  the 
foremost  watchman  on  the  peak  announces  his 
news.  It  is  the  truest  word  ever  spoken,  and  the 
phrase  will  be  the  fittest,  most  musical,  and  the 
unerring  voice  of  the  world  for  that  time. 

All  that  we  call  sacred  history  attests  that  the 
birth  of  a  poet  is  the  principal  event  in  chronology. 
Man,  never  so  often  deceived,  still  watches  for  the 
arrival  of  a  brother  who  can  hold  him  steady  to  a 
truth,  until  he  has  made  it  his  own.  With  what 
joy  I  begin  to  read  a  poem,  which  I  confide  in  as  an 
inspiration !  And  now  my  chains  are  to  be  broken  j 
I  shall  mount  above  these  clouds  and  opaque  airs  in 
which  I  live,  —  opaque,  though  they  seem  trans¬ 
parent,  —  and  from  the  heaven  of  truth  I  shall  see 
and  comprehend  my  relations.  That  will  reconcile 
me  to  life,  and  renovate  nature,  to  see  trifles  ani¬ 
mated  by  a  tendency,  and  to  know  what  I  am 
doing.  Life  will  no  more  be  a  noise  ;  now  I  shall 
see  men  and  women,  and  know  the  signs  by  which 
they  may  be  discerned  from  fools  and  satans.  This 
day  shall  be  better  than  my  birthday :  then  I  be¬ 
came  an  animal :  now  I  am  invited  into  the  science 

2* 


18 


ESSAY  I. 


of  the  real.  Such  is  the  hope,  but  the  fruition  is 
postponed.  Oftener  it  falls,  that  this  winged  man, 
who  will  carry  me  into  the  heaven,  whirls  me  into 
mists,  then  leaps  and  frisks  about  with  me  as  it  were 
from  cloud  to  cloud,  still  affirming  that  he  is  bound 
heavenward  ;  and  I,  being  myself  a  novice,  am  slow 
in  perceiving  that  he  does  not  know  the  way  into 
the  heavens,  and  is  merely  bent  that  I  should  admire 
his  skill  to  rise,  like  a  fowl  or  a  flying  fish,  a  little 
way  from  the  ground  or  the  water  ;  but  the  all-pierc¬ 
ing,  all-feeding,  and  ocular  air  of  heaven,  that  man 
shall  never  inhabit.  I  tumble  down  again  soon  into 
my  old  nooks,  and  lead  the  life  of  exaggerations  as 
before,  and  have  lost  my  faith  in  the  possibility  of 
any  guide  who  can  lead  me  thither  where  I  would  be. 

But,  leaving  these  victims  of  vanity,  let  us,  with 
new  hope,  observe  how  nature,  by  worthier  im¬ 
pulses,  has  insured  the  poet’s  fidelity  to  his  office 
of  announcement  and  affirming,  namely,  by  the 
beauty  of  things,  which  becomes  a  new  and  higher 
beauty,  when  expressed.  Nature  offers  all  her  crea¬ 
tures  to  him  as  a  picture-language.  Being  used  as 
a  type,  a  second  wonderful  value  appears  in  the 
object,  far  better  than  its  old  value,  as  the  carpen¬ 
ter’s  stretched  cord,  if  you  hold  your  ear  close 
enough,  is  musical  in  the  breeze.  “  Things  more 
excellent  than  every  image,”  says  Jamblichus 
“  are  expressed  through  images.”  Things  admit 


THE  POET. 


19 


of  being  used  as  symbols,  because  nature  is  a  sym¬ 
bol,  in  the  whole,  and  in  every  part.  Every  line 
we  can  draw  in  the  sand,  has  expression  ;  and 
there  is  no  body  without  its  spirit  or  genius.  All 
form  is  an  effect  of  character ;  all  condition,  of  the 
quality  of  the  life  ;  all  harmony,  of  health  ;  (and,  for 
this  reason,  a  perception  of  beauty  should  be  sym¬ 
pathetic,  or  proper  only  to  the  good.)  The  beauti¬ 
ful  rests  on  the  foundations  of  the  necessary.  The 
soul  makes  the  body,  as  the  wise  Spenser  teaches  : 

“  So  every  spirit,  as  it  is  more  pure, 

And  hath  in  it  the  more  of  heavenly  light, 

So  it  the  fairer  body  doth  procure 
To  habit  in,  and  it  more  fairly  dight, 

With  cheerful  grace  and  amiable  sight. 

For,  of  the  soul,  the  body  form  doth  take, 

For  soul  is  form,  and  doth  the  body  make.” 

Here  we  find  ourselves,  suddenly,  not  in  a  critical 
speculation,  but  in  a  holy  place,  and  should  go 
very  warily  and  reverently.  We  stand  before  the 
secret  of  the  world,  there  where  Being  passes  into 
Appearance,  and  Unity  into  Variety. 

The  Universe  is  the  externization  of  the  soul. 
Wherever  the  life  is,  that  bursts  into  appearance 
around  it.  Our  science  is  sensual,  and  therefore 
superficial.  The  earth  and  the  heavenly  bodies, 
physics,  and  chemistry,  we  sensually  treat,  as  if 
they  were  self-existent ;  but  these  are  the  retinue  of 


20 


ESSAY  I. 


that  Being  we  have.  “  The  mighty  heaven,”  said 
Proclus,  “  exhibits,  in  its  transfigurations,  clear 
images  of  the  splendor  of  intellectual  perceptions  ; 
being  moved  in  conjunction  with  the  unapparent 
periods  of  intellectual  natures.”  Therefore,  science 
always  goes  abreast  with  the  just  elevation  of  the 
man,  keeping  step  with  religion  and  metaphysics  ; 
or,  the  state  of  science  is  an  index  of  our  self- 
knowledge.  Since  every  thing  in  nature  answers 
to  a  moral  power,  if  any  phenomenon  remains  brute 
and  dark,  it  is  because  the  corresponding  faculty  in 
the  observer  is  not  yet  active. 

No  wonder,  then,  if  these  waters  be  so  deep, 
that  we  hover  over  them  with  a  religious  regard. 
The  beauty  of  the  fable  proves  the  importance  of 
the  sense  ;  to  the  poet,  and  to  all  others ;  or,  if  you 
please,  every  man  is  so  far  a  poet  as  to  be  suscep¬ 
tible  of  these  enchantments  of  nature  ;  for  all  men 
have  the  thoughts  whereof  the  universe  is  the  cele¬ 
bration.  I  find  that  the  fascination  resides  in  the 
symbol.  Who  loves  nature  ?  Who  does  not  ?  Is 
it  only  poets,  and  men  of  leisure  and  cultivation, 
who  live  with  her?  No  ;  but  also  hunters,  farmers, 
grooms,  and  butchers,  though  they  express  their  af¬ 
fection  in  their  choice  of  life,  and  not  in  their 
choice  of  words.  The  writer  wonders  what  the 
coachman  or  the  hunter  values  in  riding,  in  horses, 
and  dogs.  It  is  not  superficial  qualities.  When 


THE  POET. 


21 


you  talk  with  him,  he  holds  these  at  as  slight  a  rate 
as  you.  His  worship  is  sympathetic  ;  he  has  no 
definitions,  but  he  is  commanded  in  nature,  by  the 
living  power  which  he  feels  to  be  there  present. 
No  imitation,  or  playing  of  these  things,  would 
content  him ;  he  loves  the  earnest  of  the  north 
wind,  of  rain,  of  stone,  and  wood,  and  iron.  A 
beauty  not  explicable  is  dearer  than  a  beauty 
which  we  can  see  to  the  end  of.  It  is  nature  the 
symbol,  nature  certifying  the  supernatural,  body 
overflowed  by  life,  which  he  worships,  with  coarse 
but  sincere  rites. 

The  inwardness  and  mystery  of  this  attachment 
drive  men  of  every  class  to  the  use  of  emblems. 
The  schools  of  poets,  and  philosophers,  are  not 
more  intoxicated  with  their  symbols,  than  the 
populace  with  theirs.  In  our  political  parties,  com¬ 
pute  the  power  of  badges  and  emblems.  See  the 
great  ball  which  they  roll  from  Baltimore  to  Bunker 
Hill !  In  the  political  processions,  Lowell  goes  in 
a  loom,  and  Lynn  in  a  shoe,  and  Salem  in  a  ship. 
Witness  the  cider-barrel,  the  log-cabin,  the  hickory- 
stick,  the  palmetto,  and  all  the  cognizances  of  party. 
See  the  power  of  national  emblems.  Some  stars, 
lilies,  leopards,  a  crescent,  a  lion,  an  eagle,  or  other 
figure,  which  came  into  credit  God  knows  how,  on 
an  old  rag  of  bunting,  blowing  in  the  wind,  on  a 
fort,  at  the  ends  of  the  earth,  shall  make  the  blood 


22 


ESSAY  I. 


tingle  under  the  rudest,  or  the  most  conventional 
exterior.  The  people  fancy  they  hate  poetry,  and 
they  are  all  poets  and  mystics  ! 

Beyond  this  universality  of  the  symbolic  lan¬ 
guage,  we  are  apprised  of  the  divineness  of  this 
superior  use  of  things,  whereby  the  world  is  a  tem¬ 
ple,  whose  walls  are  covered  with  emblems,  pictures, 
and  commandments  of  the  Deity,  in  this,  that  there 
is  no  fact  in  nature  which  does  not  carry  the  whole 
sense  of  nature  j  and  the  distinctions  which  we  make 
in  events,  and  in  affairs,  of  low  and  high,  honest 
and  base,  disappear  when  nature  is  used  as  a  symbol. 
Thought  makes  every  thing  fit  for  use.  The 
vocabulary  of  an  omniscient  man  would  embrace 
words  and  images  excluded  from  polite  conversa¬ 
tion.  What  would  be  base,  or  even  obscene,  to 
the  obscene,  becomes  illustrious,  spoken  in  a  new 
connection  of  thought.  The  piety  of  the  Hebrew 
prophets  purges  their  grossness.  The  circumcision 
is  an  example  of  the  power  of  poetry  to  raise  the 
low  and  offensive.  Small  and  mean  things  serve 
as  well  as  great  symbols.  The  meaner  the  type  by 
which  a  law  is  expressed,  the  more  pungent  it  is, 
and  the  more  lasting  in  the  memories  of  men  •  just 
as  we  choose  the  smallest  box,  or  case,  in  which 
any  needful  utensil  can  be  carried.  Bare  lists  of 
words  are  found  suggestive,  to  an  imaginative  and 
excited  mind ;  as  it  is  related  of  Lord  Chatham,  that 


THE  POET. 


23 


he  was  accustomed  to  read  in  Bailey’s  Dictionary, 
when  he  was  preparing  to  speak  in  Parliament. 
The  poorest  experience  is  rich  enough  for  all  the 
purposes  of  expressing  thought.  Why  covet  a 
knowledge  of  new  facts  ?  Day  and  night,  house 
and  garden,  a  few  books,  a  few  actions,  serve  us  as 
well  as  would  all  trades  and  all  spectacles.  We 
are  far  from  having  exhausted  the  significance  of  the 
few  symbols  we  use.  We  can  come  to  use  them 
yet  with  a  terrible  simplicity.  It  does  not  need 
that  a  poem  should  be  long.  Every  word  was  once 
a  poem.  Every  new  relation  is  a  new  word.  Also, 
we  use  defects  and  deformities  to  a  sacred  purpose, 
so  expressing  our  sense  that  the  evils  of  the  world 
are  such  only  to  the  evil  eye.  In  the  old  mythol¬ 
ogy,  mythologists  observe,  defects  are  ascribed  to 
divine  natures,  as  lameness  to  Vulcan,  blindness  to 
Cupid,  and  the  like,  to  signify  exuberances. 

For,  as  it  is  dislocation  and  detachment  from  the 
life  of  God,  that  makes  things  ugly,  the  poet,  who 
re-attaches  things  to  nature  and  the  Whole,  —  re¬ 
attaching  even  artificial  things,  and  violations  of 
nature,  to  nature,  by  a  deeper  insight,  —  disposes 
very  easily  of  the  most  disagreeable  facts.  Readers 
of  poetry  see  the  factory-village  and  the  railway, 
and  fancy  that  the  poetry  of  the  landscape  is  broken 
up  by  these  ;  for  these  works  of  art  are  not  yet  con¬ 
secrated  in  their  reading ;  but  the  poet  sees  them 


24 


ESSAY  I. 


fall  within  the  great  Order  not  less  than  the  bee¬ 
hive,  or  the  spider’s  geometrical  web.  Nature 
adopts  them  very  fast  into  her  vital  circles,  and  the 
gliding  train  of  cars  she  loves  like  her  own.  Be-, 
sides,  in  a  centred  mind,  it  signifies  nothing  how 
many  mechanical  inventions  you  exhibit.  Though 
you  add  millions,  and  never  so  surprising,  the  fact 
of  mechanics  has  not  gained  a  grain’s  weight. 
The  spiritual  fact  remains  unalterable,  by  many  or 
by  few  particulars ;  as  no  mountain  is  of  any  appre 
ciable  height  to  break  the  curve  of  the  sphere.  A 
shrewd  country-boy  goes  to  the  city  for  the  first 
time,  and  the  complacent  citizen  is  not  satisfied 
with  his  little  wonder.  It  is  not  that  he  does  not 
see  all  the  fine  houses,  and  know  that  he  never  saw 
such  before,  but  he  disposes  of  them  as  easily  as 
the  poet  finds  place  for  the  railway.  The  chief 
value  of  the  new  fact,  is  to  enhance  the  great  and 
constant  fact  of  Life,  which  can  dwarf  any  and 
every  circumstance,  and  to  which  the  belt  of  wam¬ 
pum,  and  the  commerce  of  America,  are  alike. 

The  world  being  thus  put  under  the  mind  for  verb 
and  noun,  the  poet  is  he  who  can  articulate  it. 
For,  though  life  is  great,  and  fascinates,  and  absorbs, 
—  and  though  all  men  are  intelligent  of  the  sym¬ 
bols  through  which  it  is  named,  —  yet  they  cannot 
originally  use  them.  We  are  symbols,  and  in¬ 
habit  symbols;  workmen,  work,  and  tools,  words 


THE  POET. 


25 


and  things,  birth  and  death,  all  are  emblems  ;  but 
we  sympathize  with  the  symbols,  and,  being  in¬ 
fatuated  with  the  economical  uses  of  things,  we  do 
not  know  that  they  are  thoughts.  The  poet,  by 
an  ulterior  intellectual  perception,  gives  them  a 
power  which  makes  their  old  use  forgotten,  and 
puts  eyes,  and  a  tongue,  into  every  dumb  and  inani¬ 
mate  object.  He  perceives  the  independence  of  the 
thought  on  the  symbol,  the  stability  of  the  thought, 
the  accidency  and  fugacity  of  the  symbol.  As  the 
eyes  of  Lyncoeus  were  said  to  see  through  the 
earth,  so  the  poet  turns  the  world  to  glass,  and 
shows  us  all  things  in  their  right  series  and  proces¬ 
sion.  For,  through  that  better  perception,  he  stands 
one  step  nearer  to  things,  and  sees  the  flowing  or 
metamorphosis  j  perceives  that  thought  is  multi¬ 
form  ;  that  within  the  form  of  every  creature  is  a 
force  impelling  it  to  ascend  into  a  higher  form ; 
and,  following  with  his  eyes  the  life,  uses  the  forms 
which  express  that  life,  and  so  his  speech  flows  with 
the  flowing  of  nature.  Ml  the  facts  of  the  animal 
economy,  sex,  nutriment,  gestation,  birth,  growth, 
are  symbols  of  the  passage  of  the  world  into  the 
soul  of  man,  to  suffer  there  a  change,  and  reappear 
a  new  and  higher  fact.  He  uses  forms  according 
to  the  life,  and  not  according  to  the  form.  This 
is  true  science.  The  poet  alone  knows  astronomy, 
chemistry,  vegetation,  and  animation,  for  he  does 

3 


26 


ESSAY  I. 


not  stop  at  these  facts,  but  employs  them  as  signs. 
He'knows  why  the  plain  or  meadow  of  space  was 
strown  with  these  flowers  we  call  suns,  and  moons, 
and  stars  ;  why  the  great  deep  is  adorned  with  ani¬ 
mals,  with  men,  and  gods ;  for,  in  every  word  he 
speaks  he  rides  on  them  as  the  horses  of  thought. 

By  virtue  of  this  science  the  poet  is  the  Namer, 
or  Language-maker,  naming  things  sometimes  af¬ 
ter  their  appearance,  sometimes  after  their  essence, 
and  giving  to  every  one  its  own  name  and  not  an¬ 
other’s,  thereby  rejoicing  the  intellect,  which  de¬ 
lights  in  detachment  or  boundary.  The  poets  made 
all  the  words,  and  therefore  language  is  the  ar¬ 
chives  of  history,  and,  if  we  must  say  it,  a  sort  of 
tomb  of  the  muses.  For,  though  the  origin  of 
most  of  our  words  is  forgotten,  each  word  was  at 
first  a  stroke  of  genius,  and  obtained  currency,  be¬ 
cause  for  the  moment  it  symbolized  the  world  to 
the  first  speaker  and  to  the  hearer.  The  etymolo¬ 
gist  finds  the  deadest  word  to  have  been  once  a 
brilliant  picture.  Language  is  fossil  poetry.  As 
the  limestone  of  the  continent  consists  of  infinite 
masses  of  the  shells  of  animalcules,  so  language  is 
made  up  of  images,  or  tropes,  which  now,  in  their 
secondary  use,  have  long  ceased  to  remind  us  of 
their  poetic  origin.  But  the  poet  names  the  thing 
because  he  sees  it,  or  comes  one  step  nearer  to  it 
than  any  other.  This  expression,  or  naming,  is  not 


THE  POET. 


2~ 


art,  but  a  second  nature,  grown  out  of  the  first,  as 
a  leaf  out  of  a  tree.  What  we  call  nature,  is  a  cer¬ 
tain  self-regulated  motion,  or  change  ;  and  nature 
does  all  things  by  her  own  hands,  and  does  not 
leave  another  to  baptize  her,  but  baptizes  herself ; 
and  this  through  the  metamorphosis  again.  I  re¬ 
member  that  a  certain  poet  described  it  to  me  thus  : 

Genius  is  the  activity  which  repairs  the  decays 
of  things,  whether  wholly  or  partly  of  a  material 
and  finite  kind.  Nature,  through  all  her  kingdoms, 
insures  herself.  Nobody  cares  for  planting  the 
poor  fungus :  so  she  shakes  down  from  the  gills  of 
one  agaric  countless  spores,  any  one  of  which,  be¬ 
ing  preserved,  transmits  new  billions  of  spores  to¬ 
morrow  or  next  day.  The  new  agaric  of  this 
hour  has  a  chance  which  the  old  one  had  not. 
This  atom  of  seed  is  thrown  into  a  new  place,  not 
subject  to  the  accidents  which  destroyed  its  parent 
two  rods  off.  She  makes  a  man ;  and  having 
brought  him  to  ripe  age,  she  will  no  longer  run  the 
risk  of  losing  this  wonder  at  a  blow,  but  she  de¬ 
taches  from  him  a  new  self,  that  the  kind  may  be 
safe  from  accidents  to  which  the  individual  is  ex¬ 
posed.  So  when  the  soul  of  the  poet  has  come  to 
ripeness  of  thought,  she  detaches  and  sends  away 
from  it  its  poems  or  songs,  —  a  fearless,  sleepless, 
deathless  progeny,  which  is  not  exposed  to  the 


28 


ESSAY  I. 


accidents  of  the  weary  kingdom  of  time  :  a  fearless, 
vivacious  offspring,  clad  Avith  wings  (such  was  the 
virtue  of  the  soul  out  of  which  they  came),  which 
carry  them  fast  and  far,  and  infix  them  irrecovera¬ 
bly  into  the  hearts  of  men.  These  wings  are  the 
beauty  of  the  poet’s  soul.  The  songs,  thus  flying 
immortal  from  their  mortal  parent,  are  pursued  by 
clamorous  flights  of  censures,  which  swarm  in  far 
greater  numbers,  and  threaten  to  devour  them ;  but 
these  last  are  not  winged.  At  the  end  of  a  very 
short  leap  they  fall  plump  down,  and  rot,  having 
received  from  the  souls  out  of  which  they  came  no 
beautiful  wings.  But  the  melodies  of  the  poet  as¬ 
cend,  and  leap,  and  pierce  into  the  deeps  of  infinite 
time. 

So  far  the  bard  taught  me,  using  his  freer  speech. 
But  nature  has  a  higher  end,  in  the  production  of 
new  individuals,  than  security,  namely,  ascension , 
or,  the  passage  of  the  soul  into  higher  forms.  I  knew, 
in  my  younger  days,  the  sculptor  who  made  the 
statue  of  the  youth  which  stands  in  the  public  gar¬ 
den.  He  was,  as  I  remember,  unable  to  tell  direct¬ 
ly,  what  made  him  happy,  or  unhappy,  but  by 
wonderful  indirections  he  could  tell.  He  rose  one 
day,  according  to  his  habit,  before  the  dawn,  and 
saw  the  morning  break,  grand  as  the  eternity  out  of 
which  it  came,  and,  for  many  days  after,  he  strove 


THE  POET. 


29 


to  express  this  tranquillity,  and,  lo !  his  chisel  had 
fashioned  out  of  marble  the  form  of  a  beautiful 
youth,  Phosphorus,  whose  aspect  is  such,  that,  it  is 
said,  all  persons  who  look  on  it  become  silent. 
The  poet  also  resigns  himself  to  his  mood,  and  that 
thought  which  agitated  him  is  expressed,  but  alter 
idem ,  in  a  manner  totally  new.  The  expression  is 
organic,  or,  the  new  type  which  things  themselves 
take  when  liberated.  As,  in  the  sun,  objects  paint 
their  images  on  the  retina  of  the  eye,  so  they,  shar¬ 
ing  the  aspiration  of  the  whole  universe,  tend  to 
paint  a  far  more  delicate  copy  of  their  essence  in 
his  mind.  Like  the  metamorphosis  of  things  into 
higher  organic  forms,  is  their  change  into  melodies. 
Over  everything  stands  its  daemon,  or  soul,  and,  as 
the  form  of  the  thing  is  reflected  by  the  eye,  so 
the  soul  of  the  thing  is  reflected  by  a  melody.  The 
sea,  the  mountain-ridge,  Niagara,  and  every  flower¬ 
bed,  pre-exist,  or  super-exist,  in  pre-cantations, 
which  sail  like  odors  in  the  air,  and  when  any 
man  goes  by  with  an  ear  sufficiently  fine,  he  over¬ 
hears  them,  and  endeavors  to  write  down  the  notes, 
without  diluting  or  depraving  them.  And  herein 
is  the  legitimation  of  criticism,  in  the  mind’s  faith, 
that  the  poems  are  a  corrupt  version  of  some  text  in 
nature,  with  which  they  ought  to  be  made  to  tally. 
A  rhyme  in  one  of  our  sonnets  should  not  be  less 
pleasing  than  the  iterated  nodes  of  a  seashell,  or 
3* 


30 


ESSAY  I. 


the  resembling  difference  of  a  group  of  flowers. 
The  pairing  of  the  birds  is  an  idyl,  not  tedious  as 
our  idyls  are  ;  a  tempest  is  a  rough  ode,  without 
falsehood  or  rant  :  a  summer,  with  its  harvest 
sown,  reaped,  and  stored,  is  an  epic  song,  subordi¬ 
nating  how  many  admirably  executed  parts.  Why 
should  not  the  symmetry  and  truth  that  modulate 
these,  glide  into  our  spirits,  and  we  participate  the 
invention  of  nature  ? 

This  insight,  which  expresses  itself  by  what  is 
called  Imagination,  is  a  very  high  sort  of  seeing, 
which  does  not  come  by  study,  but  by  the  intel¬ 
lect  being  where  and  what  it  sees,  by  sharing  the 
path  or  circuit  of  things  through  forms,  and  so  mak¬ 
ing  them  translucid  to  others.  The  path  of  things 
is  silent.  Will  they  suffer  a  speaker  to  go  with 
them  ?  A  spy  they  will  not  suffer ;  a  lover,  a  poet, 
is  the  transcendency  of  their  own  nature,  —  him 
they  will  suffer.  The  condition  of  true  naming, 
on  the  poet’s  part,  is  his  resigning  himself  to  the 
divine  aura  which  breathes  through  forms,  and  ac¬ 
companying  that. 

It  is  a  secret  which  every  intellectual  man  quick¬ 
ly  learns,  that,  beyond  the  energy  of  his  possessed 
and  conscious  intellect,  he  is  capable  of  a  new  en¬ 
ergy  (as  of  an  intellect  doubled  on  itself),  by  aban¬ 
donment  to  the  nature  of  things ;  that,  beside  his 
privacy  of  power  as  an  individual  man,  there  is  a 


THE  POET. 


31 


great  public  power,  on  which  he  can  draw,  by  un¬ 
locking,  at  all  risks,  his  human  doors,  and  suffering 
the  ethereal  tides  to  roll  and  circulate  through  him  : 
then  he  is  caught  up  into  the  life  of  the  Universe, 
his  speech  is  thunder,  his  thought  is  law,  and  his 
words  are  universally  intelligible  as  the  plants  and 
animals.  The  poet  knows  that  he  speaks  adequate¬ 
ly,  then,  only  when  he  speaks  somewhat  wildly,  or, 
“  with  the  flower  of  the  mind  not  with  the  intel¬ 
lect,  used  as  an  organ,  but  with  the  intellect  released 
from  all  service,  and  suffered  to  take  its  direction 
from  its  celestial  life  ;  or,  as  the  ancients  were  wont 
to  express  themselves,  not  with  intellect  alone,  but 
with  the  intellect  inebriated  by  nectar.  As  the  trav¬ 
eller  who  has  lost  his  way,  throws  his  reins  on  his 
horse’s  neck,  and  trusts  to  the  instinct  of  the  ani¬ 
mal  to  find  his  road,  so  must  we  do  with  the  divine 

animal  who  carries  us  through  this  world.  For  if 

* 

in  any  manner  we  can  stimulate  this  instinct,  new 
passages  are  opened  for  us  into  nature,  the  mind 
flows  into  and  through  things  hardest  and  highest, 
and  the  metamorphosis  is  possible. 

This  is  the  reason  why  bards  love  wine,  mead, 
narcotics,  coffee,  tea,  opium,  the  fumes  of  sandal¬ 
wood  and  tobacco,  or  whatever  other  procurers  of 
animal  exhilaration.  All  men  avail  themselves  of 
such  means  as  they  can,  to  add  this  extraordinary 
power  to  their  normal  powers ;  and  to  this  end  they 


32 


ESSAY  I. 


prize  conversation,  music,  pictures,  sculpture,  dan¬ 
cing,  theatres,  travelling,  war,  mobs,  fires,  gaming, 
politics,  or  love,  or  science,  or  animal  intoxication, 
which  are  several  coarser  or  finer  ^wcm-mechanicai 
substitutes  for  the  true  nectar,  which  is  the  ravish¬ 
ment  of  the  intellect  by  coming  nearer  to  the  fact. 
These  are  auxiliaries  to  the  centrifugal  tendency  of 
a  man,  to  his  passage  out  into  free  space,  and  they 
help  him  to  escape  the  custody  of  that  body  in 
which  he  is  pent  up,  and  of  that  jail-yard  of  indi- 
dividual  relations  in  which  he  is  enclosed.  Hence 
a  great  number  of  such  as  were  professionally  ex- 
pressors  of  Beauty,  as  painters,  poets,  musicians, 
and  actors,  have  been  more  than  others  wont  to  lead 
a  life  of  pleasure  and  indulgence;  all  but  the  few 
who  received  the  true  nectar ;  and,  as  it  was  a  spu¬ 
rious  mode  of  attaining  freedom,  as  it  was  an  eman¬ 
cipation  not  into  the  heavens,  but  into  the  freedom 
of  baser  places,  they  were  punished  for  that  advan¬ 
tage  they  won,  by  a  dissipation  and  deterioration. 
But  never  can  any  advantage  be  taken  of  nature  by 
a  trick.  The  spirit  of  the  world,  the  great  calm 
presence  of  the  Creator,  conies  not  forth  to  the  sor¬ 
ceries  of  opium  or  of  wine.  The  sublime  vision 
comes  to  the  pure  and  simple  soul  in  a  clean  and 
chaste  body.  That  is  not  an  inspiration  which  we 
owe  to  narcotics,  but  some  counterfeit  excitement 
and  fury.  Milton  says,  that  the  lyric  poet  may 


THE  POET. 


33 


drink  wme  and  live  generously,  but  the  epic  poet, 
he  who  shall  sing  of  the  gods,  and  their  descent 
unto  men,  must  drink  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl. 
For  poetry  is  not  ‘Devil’s  wine,’  but  God’s  wine. 
It  is  with  this  as  it  is  with  toys.  We  fill  the  hands 
and  nurseries  of  our  children  with  all  manner  of 
dolls,  drums,  and  horses,  withdrawing  their  eyes 
from  the  plain  face  and  sufficing  objects  of  nature, 
the  sun,  and  moon,  the  animals,  the  water,  and 
stones,  which  should  be  their  toys.  So  the  poet’s 
habit  of  living  should  be  set  on  a  key  so  low,  that 
the  common  influences  should  delight  him.  His 
cheerfulness  should  be  the  gift  of  the  sunlight ;  the 
air  should  suffice  for  his  inspiration,  and  he  should 
be  tipsy  with  water.  That. spirit  which  suffices 
quiet  hearts,  which  seems  to  come  forth  to  such 
from  every  dry  knoll  of  sere  grass,  from  every  pine- 
stump,  and  half-imbedded  stone,  on  which  the  dull 
March  sun  shines,  comes  forth  to  the  poor  and  hun¬ 
gry,  and  such  as  are  of  simple  taste.  If  thou  fill 
thy  brain  with  Boston  and  New  York,  with  fashion 
and  covetousness,  and  wilt  stimulate  thy  jaded 
senses  with  wine  and  French  coffee,  thou  shalt  find 
no  radiance  of  wisdom  in  the  lonely  waste  of  the 
pine  woods. 

If  the  imagination  intoxicates  the  poet,  it  is  not 
inactive  in  other  men.  The  metamorphosis  excites 
in  the  beholder  an  emotion  of  joy.  The  use  of 
symbols  has  a  certain  power  of  emancipation  and 


34 


ESSAY  I. 


exhilaration  for  all  men.  We  seem  to  be  to  ached 
by  a  wand,  which  makes  us  dance  and  run  about 
happily,  like  children.  We  are  like  persons  who 
come  out  of  a  cave  or  cellar  into  the  open  air. 
This  is  the  effect  on  us  of  tropes,  fables,  oracles, 
arid  all  poetic  forms.  Poets  are  thus  liberating 
gods.  Men  have  really  got  a  new  sense,  and  found 
within  their  world,  another  world,  or  nest  of 
worlds  ;  for,  the  metamorphosis  once  seen,  we  di¬ 
vine  that  it  does  not  stop.  I  will  not  now  consider 
how  much  this  makes  the  charm  of  algebra  and  the 
mathematics,  which  also  have  their  tropes,  but  it  is 
felt  in  every  definition ;  as,  when  Aristotle  defines 
space  to  be  an  immovable  vessel,  in  which  things 
are  contained  ;  —  or,  when  Plato  defines  a  line  to 
be  a  flowing  point  ;  or,  figure  to  be  a  bound  of 
solid  ;  and  many  the  like.  What  a  joyful  sense  of 
freedom  we  have,  when  Vitruvius  announces  the 
old  opinion  of  artists,  that  no  architect  can  build 
any  house  well,  who  does  not  know  something  of 
anatomy.  When  Socrates,  in  Charmides,  tells  us 
that  the  soul  is  cured  of  its  maladies  by  certain  in¬ 
cantations,  and  that  these  incantations  are  beautiful 
reasons,  from  which  temperance  is  generated  in 
souls  ;  when  Plato  calls  the  world  an  animal  ;  and 
Timm  us  affirms  that  the  plants  also  are  animals  ;  or 
affirms  a  man  to  be  a  heavenly  tree,  growing  with 
his  root,  which  is  his  head,  upward  ;  and,  as  George 
Chapman,  following  him,  writes, — 


THE  POET. 


35 


“  So  in  our  tree  of  man,  whose  nervie  root 
Springs  in  his  top ;  ” 

when  Orpheus  speaks  of  hoariness  as  “  that  white 
flower  which  marks  extreme  old  age  ;  ”  when  Pro- 
clus  calls  the  universe  the  statue  of  the  intellect ; 
when  Chaucer,  in  his  praise  of  1  Gentilesse,’  com¬ 
pares  good  blood  in  mean  condition  to  fire,  which, 
though  carried  to  the  darkest  house  betwixt  this 
and  the  mount  of  Caucasus,  will  yet  hold  its  natu¬ 
ral  office,  and  burn  as  bright  as  if  twenty  thousand 
men  did  it  behold  ;  when  John  saw,  in  the  Apoca¬ 
lypse,  the  ruin  of  the  world  through  evil,  and  the 
stars  fall  from  heaven,  as  the  figtree  casteth  her 
untimely  fruit ;  when  iEsop  reports  the  whole 
catalogue  of  common  daily  relations  through  the 
masquerade  of  birds  and  beasts; — we  take  the 
cheerful  hint  of  the  immortality  of  our  essence, 
and  its  versatile  habit  and  escapes,  as  when  the 
gypsies  say  of  themselves,  “it  is  in  vain  to  hang 
them,  they  cannot  die.” 

The  poets  are  thus  liberating  gods.  The  an¬ 
cient  British  bards  had  for  the  title  of  their  order, 
“  Those  who  are  free  throughout  the  world.”  They 
are  free,  and  they  make  free.  An  imaginative  book 
renders  us  much  more  service  at  first,  by  stimulat¬ 
ing  us  through  its  tropes,  than  afterward,  when  we 
arrive  at  the  precise  sense  of  the  author.  I  think 
nothing  is  of  any  value  in  books,  excepting  the  tran- 


36 


ESSAY  I. 


scendental  and  extraordinary.  If  a  man  is  inflamed 
and  carried  away  by  his  thought,  to  that  degree 
that  he  forgets  the  authors  and  the  public,  and  heeds 
only  this  one  dream,  which  holds  him  like  an  in¬ 
sanity,  let  me  read  his  paper,  and  you  may  have  all 
the  arguments  and  histories  and  criticism.  All  the 
value  which  attaches  to  Pythagoras,  Paracelsus, 
Cornelius  Agrippa,  Cardan,  Kepler,  Swedenborg, 
Schelling,  Oken,  or  any  other  who  introduces  ques¬ 
tionable  facts  into  his  cosmogony,  as  angels,  devils, 
magic,  astrology,  palmistry,  mesmerism,  and  so  on, 
is  the  certificate  we  have  of  departure  from  routine, 
and  that  here  is  a  new  witness.  That  also  is  the 
best  success  in  conversation,  the  magic  of  liberty, 
which  puts  the  world,  like  a  ball,  in  our  hands. 
How  cheaj)  even  the  liberty  then  seems ;  how  mean 
to  study,  when  an  emotion  communicates  to  the 
intellect  the  power  to  sap  and  upheave  nature  :  how 
great  the  perspective  !  nations,  times,  systems,  enter 
and  disappear,  like  threads  in  tapestry  of  large  figure 
and  many  colors  ;  dream  delivers  us  to  dream,  and, 
while  the  drunkenness  lasts,  we  will  sell  our  bed, 
our  philosophy,  our  religion,  in  our  opulence. 

There  is  good  reason  why  we  should  prize  this 
liberation.  The  fate  of  the  poor  shepherd,  who, 
blinded  and  lost  in  the  snow-storm,  perishes  in  a 
drift  within  a  few  feet  of  his  cottage  door,  is  an 
emblem  of  the  state  of  man.  On  the  brink  of  the 


THE  POET. 


37 


waters  of  life  and  truth,  we  are  miserably  dying. 
The  inaccessibleness  of  every  thought  but  that  we 
are  in,  is  wonderful.  What  if  you  come  near  to  it, 
—  you  are  as  remote,  when  you  are  nearest,  as 
when  you  are  farthest.  Every  thought  is  also  a 
prison  ;  every  heaven  is  also  a  prison.  Therefore 
we  love  the  poet,  the  inventor,  who  in  any  form, 
whether  in  an  ode,  or  in  an  action,  or  in  looks  and 
behavior,  has  yielded  us  a  new  thought.  He  un¬ 
locks  our  chains,  and  admits  us  to  a  new  scene. 

This  emancipation  is  dear  to  all  men,  and  the 
power  to  impart  it,  as  it  must  come  from  greater 
depth  and  scope  of  thought,  is  a  measure  of  intellect. 
Therefore  all  books  of  the  imagination  endure,  all 
which  ascend  to  that  truth,  that  the  writer  sees 
nature  beneath  him,  and  uses  it  as  his  exponent. 
Every  verse  or  sentence,  possessing  this  virtue,  will 
take  care  of  its  own  immortality.  The  religions 
of  the  world  are  the  ejaculations  of  a  few  imagina¬ 
tive  men. 

But  the  quality  of  the  imagination  is  to  flow,  and 
not  to  freeze.  The  poet  did  not  stop  at  the  color, 
or  the  form,  but  read  their  meaning ;  neither  may 
he  rest  in  this  meaning,  but  he  makes  the  same  ob¬ 
jects  exponents  of  his  new  thought.  Here  is  the 
difference  betwixt  the  poet  and  the  mystic,  that 
the  last  nails  a  symbol  to  one  sense,  which  was  a 
true  sense  for  a  moment,  but  soon  becomes  old  and 

4 


38 


ESSAY  I. 


false.  For  all  symbols  are  fluxional ;  all  language 
is  vehicular  and  transitive,  and  is  good,  as  ferries 
and  horses  are,  for  conveyance,  not  as  farms  and 
houses  are,  for  homestead.  Mysticism  consists  in 
the  mistake  of  an  accidental  and  individual  symbol 
for  an  universal  one.  The  morning-redness  hap¬ 
pens  to  be  the  favorite  meteor  to  the  eyes  of  Jacob 
Behmen,  and  comes  to  stand  to  him  for  truth  and 
faith  ;  and  he  believes  should  stand  for  the  same 
realities  to  every  reader.  But  the  first  reader  pre¬ 
fers  as  naturally  the  symbol  of  a  mother  and  child, 
or  a  gardener  and  his  bulb,  or  a  jeweller  polishing 
a  gem.  Either  of  these,  or  of  a  myriad  more,  are 
equally  good  to  the  person  to  whom  they  are  sig¬ 
nificant.  Only  they  must  be  held  lightly,  and  be 
very  willingly  translated  into  the  equivalent  terms 
which  others  use.  And  the  mystic  must  be  steadily 
told, — All  that  you  say  is  just  as  true  without  the 
tedious  use  of  that  symbol  as  with  it.  Let  us  have 
a  little  algebra,  instead  of  this  trite  rhetoric, — 
universal  signs,  instead  of  these  village  symbols,  — 
and  we  shall  both  be  gainers.  The  history  of 
hierarchies  seems  to  show,  that  all  religious  error 
consisted  in  making  the  symbol  too  stark  and  solid, 
and,  at  last,  nothing  but  an  excess  of  the  organ  of 
language. 

Swedenborg,  of  all  men  in  the  recent  ages,  stands 
eminently  for  the  translator  of  nature  into  thought. 


THE  POET. 


39 


I  do. nor,  know  the  man  in  history  to  whom  things 
stood  so  uniformly  for  words.  Before  him  the 
metamorphosis  continually  plays.  Everything  on 
which  his  eye  rests,  obeys  the  impulses  of  moral 
nature.  The  figs  become  grapes  whilst  he  eats 
them.  When  some  of  his  angels  affirmed  a  truth, 
the  laurel  twig  which  they  held  blossomed  in  their 
hands.  The  noise  which,  at  a  distance,  appeared 
like  gnashing  and  thumping,  on  coming  nearer  was 
found  to  be  the  voice  of  disputants.  The  men,  in 
one  of  his  visions,  seen  in  heavenly  light,  appeared 
like  dragons,  and  seemed  in  darkness :  but,  to  each 
other,  they  appeared  as  men,  and,  when  the  light 
from  heaven  shone  into  their  cabin,  they  com¬ 
plained  of  the  darkness,  and  were  compelled  to  shut 
the  window  that  they  might  see. 

There  was  this  perception  in  him,  which  makes 
the  poet  or  seer,  an  object  of  awe  and  terror,  name¬ 
ly,  that  the  same  man,  or  society  of  men,  may 
wear  one  aspect  to  themselves  and  their  compan¬ 
ions,  and  a  different  aspect  to  higher  intelligences. 
Certain  priests,  whom  he  describes  as  conversing 
very  learnedly  together,  appeared  to  the  children, 
who  were  at  some  distance,  like  dead  horses :  and 
many  the  like  misappearances.  And  instantly  the 
mind  inquires,  whether  these  fishes  under  the  bridge, 
yonder  oxen  in  the  pasture,  those  dogs  in  the  yard, 
are  immutably  fishes,  oxen,  and  dogs,  or  only  so 


40 


ESSAY  I. 


appear  to  me,  and  perchance  to  themselves  appear 
upright  men  ;  and  whether  I  appear  as  a  man  to 
all  eyes.  The  Bramins  and  Pythagoras  propounded 
the  same  question,  and  if  any  poet  has  witnessed 
the  transformation,  he  doubtless  found  it  in  har¬ 
mony  with  various  experiences.  We  have  all  seen 
changes  as  considerable  in  wheat  and  caterpillars. 
He  is  the  poet,  and  shall  draw  us  with  love  and 
terror,  who  sees,  through  the  flowing  vest,  the  firm 
nature,  and  can  declare  it. 

I  look  in  vain  for  the  poet  whom  I  describe. 
We  do  not,  with  sufficient  plainness,  or  sufficient 
profoundness,  address  ourselves  to  life,  nor  dare  we 
chaunt  our  own  times  and  social  circumstance.  If 
we  filled  the  day  with  bravery,  we  should  not  shrink 
from  celebrating  it.  Time  and  nature  yield  us 
many  gifts,  but  not  yet  the  timely  man,  the  new 
religion,  the  reconciler,  whom  all  things  await. 
Dante’s  praise  is,  that  he  dared  to  write  his  auto¬ 
biography  in  colossal  cipher,  or  into  universality. 
We  have  yet  had  no  genius  in  America,  with  tyran¬ 
nous  eye,  which  knew  the  value  of  our  incompa¬ 
rable  materials,  and  saw,  in  the  barbarism  and  mate¬ 
rialism  of  the  times,  another  carnival  of  the  same 
gods  whose  picture  he  so  much  admires  in  Homer ; 
then  in  the  middle  age  ;  then  in  Calvinism.  Banks 
and  tariffs,  the  newspaper  and  caucus,  methodism 
and  unitarianism,  are  flat  and  dull  to  dull  people, 


THE  POET. 


41 


but  rest  on  the  same  foundations  of  wonder  as  the 
town  of  Troy,  and  the  temple  of  Delphos,  and  are 
as  swiftly  passing  away.  Our  logrolling,  our  stumps 
and  their  politics,  our  fisheries,  our  Negroes,  and 
Indians,  our  boats,  and  our  repudiations,  the  wrath 
of  rogues,  and  the  pusillanimity  of  honest  men,  the 
northern  trade,  the  southern  planting,  the  western 
clearing,  Oregon,  and  Texas,  are  yet  unsung.  Yet 
America  is  a  poem  in  our  eyes  ;  its  ample  geography 
dazzles  the  imagination,  and  it  will  not  wait  long 
for  metres.  If  I  have  not  found  that  excellent  com¬ 
bination  of  gifts  in  my  countrymen  which  I  seek, 
neither  could  I  aid  myself  to  fix  the  idea  of  the 
poet  by  reading  now  and  then  in  Chalmers’s  col¬ 
lection  of  five  centuries  of  English  poets.  These 
are  wits,  more  than  poets,  though  there  have  been 
poets  among  them.  But  when  we  adhere  to  the 
ideal  of  the  poet,  we  have  our  difficulties  even  with 
Milton  and  Homer.  Milton  is  too  literary,  and 
Homer  too  literal  and  historical. 

But  I  am  not  wise  enough  for  a  national  criti¬ 
cism,  and  must  use  the  old  largeness  a  little  longer, 
to  discharge  my  errand  from  the  muse  to  the  poet 
concerning  his  art. 

Art  is  the  path  of  the  creator  to  his  work.  The 
paths,  or  methods,  are  ideal  and  eternal,  though 
few  men  ever  see  them,  not  the  artist  himself  for 
years,  or  for  a  lifetime,  unless  he  come  into  the 
4* 


42 


ESSAY  I. 


conditions.  The  painter,  the  sculptor,  the  com¬ 
poser,  the  epic  rhapsodist,  the  orator,  all  partake  one 
desire,  namely,  to  express  themselves  symmetrically 
and  abundantly,  not  dwarfishly  and  fragmentarily. 
They  found  or  put  themselves  in  certain  conditions, 
as,  the  painter  and  sculptor  before  some  impressive 
human  figures;  the  orator,  into  the  assembly  of  the 
people  ;  and  the  others,  in  such  scenes  as  each  has 
found  exciting  to  his  intellect ;  and  each  presently 
feels  the  new  desire.  He  hears  a  voice,  he  sees  a 
beckoning.  Then  he  is  apprised,  with  wonder,  what 
herds  of  daemons  hem  him  in.  He  can  no  more 
rest  ;  he  says,  with  the  old  painter,  “  By  God,  it  is 
in  me,  and  must  go  forth  of  me.”  He  pursues  a 
beauty,  half  seen,  which  flies  before  him.  The 
poet  pours  out  verses  in  every  solitude.  Most  of 
the  things  he  says  are  conventional,  no  doubt  ;  but 
by  and  by  he  says  something  which  is  original  and 
beautiful.  That  charms  him.  He  would  say  noth¬ 
ing  else  but  such  things.  In  our  way  of  talking, 
we  say,  c  That  is  yours,  this  is  mine  ;  ’  but  the  poet 
knows  well  that  it  is  not  his ;  that  it  is  as  strange 
and  beautiful  to  him  as  to  you  ;  he  would  fain  hear 
the  like  eloquence  at  length.  Once  having  tasted 
this  immortal  ichor,  he  cannot  have  enough  of  it, 
and,  as  an  admirable  creative  power  exists  in  these 
intellections,  it  is  of  the  last  importance  that  these 
things  get  spoken.  What  a  little  of  all  we  know  i& 


THE  POET. 


43 


said  !  What  drops  of  all  the  sea  of  our  science  are 
baled  up !  and  by  what  accident  it  is  that  these  are 
exposed,  when  so  many  secrets  sleep  in  nature ! 
Hence  the  necessity  of  speech  and  song ;  hence 
these  throbs  and  heart-beatings  in  the  orator,  at 
the  door  of  the  assembly,  to  the  end,  namely,  that 
thought  may  be  ejaculated  as  Logos,  or  Word. 

Doubt  not,  O  poet,  but  persist.  Say,  1  It  is  in 

« 

me,  and  shall  out.’  Stand  there,  balked  and 
dumb,  stuttering  and  stammering,  hissed  and  hoot¬ 
ed,  stand  and  strive,  until,  at  last,  rage  draw  out  of 
thee  that  dream- power  which  every  night  shows 
thee  is  thine  own  ;  a  power  transcending  all  limit 
and  privacy,  and  by  virtue  of  which  a  man  is  the 
conductor  of  the  whole  river  of  electricity.  Noth¬ 
ing  walks,  or  creeps,  or  grows,  or  exists,  which 
must  not  in  turn  arise  and  walk  before  him  as  ex¬ 
ponent  of  his  meaning.  Comes  he  to  that  power, 
his  genius  is  no  longer  exhaustible.  All  the  crea¬ 
tures,  by  pairs  and  by  tribes,  pour  into  his  mind  as 
into  a  Noah’s  ark,  to  come  forth  again  to  people  a 
new  world.  This  is  like  the  stock  of  air  for  oui 
respiration,  or  for  the  combustion  of  our  fireplace, 
not  a  measure  of  gallons,  but  the  entire  atmosphere 
if  wanted.  And  therefore  the  rich  poets,  as  Homer, 
Chaucer,  Shakspeare,  and  Raphael,  have  obviously 
no  limits  to  their  works,  except  the  limits  of  their 
lifetime,  and  resemble  a  mirror  carried  through  the 


44 


ESSAY  I. 


street,  ready  to  render  an  image  of  every  created 
thing. 

O  poet !  a  new  nobility  is  conferred  in  groves  and 
pastures,  and  not  in  castles,  or  by  the  sword-blade, 
any  longer.  The  conditions  are  hard,  but  equal. 
Thou  shalt  leave  the  world,  and  know  the  muse 
only.  Thou  shalt  not  know  any  longer  the  times, 
customs,  graces,  politics,  or  opinions  of  men,  but 
shalt  take  all  from  the  muse.  For  the  time  of 
towns  is  tolled  from  the  world  by  funereal  chimes, 
but  in  nature  the  universal  hours  are  counted  by 
succeeding  tribes  of  animals  and  plants,  and  by 
growth  of  joy  on  joy.  God  wills  also  that  thou 
abdicate  a  manifold  and  duplex  life,  and  that  thou 
be  content  that  others  speak  for  thee.  Others  shall 
be  thy  gentlemen,  and  shall  represent  all  courtesy 
and  worldly  life  for  thee ;  others  shall  do  the  great 
and  resounding  actions  also.  Thou  shalt  lie  close 
hid  with  nature,  and  canst  not  be  afforded  to  the 
Capitol  or  the  Exchange.  The  world  is  full  of  re¬ 
nunciations  and  apprenticeships,  and  this  is  thine ; 
thou  must  pass  for  a  fool  and  a  churl  for  a  long  sea¬ 
son.  This  is  the  screen  and  sheath  in  which  Pan 
has  protected  his  well-beloved  flower,  and  thou 
shalt  be  known  only  to  thine  own,  and  they  shall 
console  thee  with  tenderest  love.  And  thou  shalt 
not  be  able  to  rehearse  the  names  of  thy  friends  in 
thy  verse,  for  an  old  shame  before  the  holy  ideal. 


THE  POET. 


45 


And  this  is  the  reward :  that  the  ideal  shall  be  real 
to  thee,  and  the  impressions  of  the  actual  world 
shall  fall  like  summer  rain,  copious,  but  not  trouble¬ 
some,  to  thy  invulnerable  essence.  Thou  shalt  have 
the  whole  land  for  thy  park  and  manor,  the  sea  for 
thy  bath  and  navigation,  without  tax  and  without 
envy ;  the  woods  and  the  rivers  thou  shalt  own  ; 
and  thou  shalt  possess  that  wherein  others  are  only 
tenants  and  boarders.  Thou  true  land-lord!  sea- 
lord  !  air-lord !  Wherever  snow  falls,  or  water  flows, 
or  birds  fly,  wherever  day  and  night  meet  in  twi¬ 
light,  wherever  the  blue  heaven  is  hung  by  clouds, 
or  sown  with  stars,  wherever  are  forms  with  trans¬ 
parent  boundaries,  wherever  are  outlets  into  celestial 
space,  wherever  is  danger,  and  awe,  and  love,  there 
is  Beauty,  plenteous  as  rain,  shed  for  thee,  and 
though  thou  shouldst  walk  the  world  over,  thou 
shalt  not  be  able  to  find  a  condition  inopportune  or 
ignoble. 


EXPERIENCE. 


The  lords  of  life,  the  lords  of  life,  — 

I  saw  them  pass, 

In  their  own  guise, 

Like  and  unlike, 

Portly  and  grim, 

Use  and  Surprise, 

Surface  and  Dream, 

Succession  swift,  and  spectral  Wrong, 
Temperament  without  a  tongue, 

And  the  inventor  of  the  game 
Omnipresent  without  name  ;  — 

Some  to  see,  some  to  be  guessed, 

They  marched  from  east  to  west : 

Little  man,  least  of  all, 

Among  the  legs  of  his  guardians  tall. 
Walked  about  with  puzzled  look  :  — 
Him  by  the  hand  dear  Nature  took  ; 
Dearest  Nature,  strong  and  kind, 
Whispered,  ‘  Darling,  never  mind  ! 
To-morrow  they  will  wear  another  face. 
The  founder  thou  !  these  are  thy  race !  ’ 


ESSAY  II. 


EXPERIENCE. 


Where  do  we  find  ourselves?  In  a  series  of 
which  we  do  not  know  the  extremes,  and  believe 
that  it  has  none.  We  wake  and  find  ourselves  on 
a  stair  ;  there  are  stairs  below  us,  which  we  seem 
to  have  ascended ;  there  are  stairs  above  us,  many 
a  one,  which  go  upward  and  out  of  sight.  But 
the  Genius  which,  according  to  the  old  belief,  stands 
at  the  door  by  which  we  enter,  and  gives  us  the 
lethe  to  drink,  that  we  may  tell  no  tales,  mixed  the 
cup  too  strongly,  and  we  cannot  shake  off  the 
lethargy  now  at  noonday.  Sleep  lingers  all  our  life¬ 
time  about  our  eyes,  as  night  hovers  all  day  in  the 
boughs  of  the  fir-tree.  All  things  swim  and  glitter. 
Our  life  is  not  so  much  threatened  as  our  perception. 
Ghostlike  we  glide  through  nature,  and  should  not 
know  our  place  again.  Did  our  birth  fall  in  some 
fit  of  indigence  and  frugality  in  nature,  that  she 
was  so  sparing  of  her  fire  and  so  liberal  of  her  earth, 

5 


50 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


that  it  appears  to  us  that  we  lack  the  affirmative 
principle,  and  though  we  have  health  and  reason, 
yet  we  have  no  superfluity  of  spirit  for  new  crea¬ 
tion  ?  We  have  enough  to  live  and  bring  the  year 
about,  hut  not  an  ounce  to  impart  or  to  invest.  Ah 
that  our  Genius  were  a  little  more  of  a  genius  ! 
We  are  like  millers  on  the  lower  levels  of  a  stream, 
when  the  factories  above  them  have  exhausted  the 
water.  We  too  fancy  that  the  upper  people  must 
have  raised  their  dams. 

If  any  of  us  knew  what  we  were  doing,  or  where 
we  are  going,  then  when  we  think  we  best  know  ! 
We  do  not  know  to-day  whether  we  are  busy  or 
idle.  In  times  when  we  thought  ourselves  indo¬ 
lent,  we  have  afterwards  discovered,  that  much  was 
accomplished,  and  much  was  begun  in  us.  All 
our  days  are  so  unprofitable  while  they  pass,  that 
His  wonderful  where  or  when  we  ever  got  anything 
of  this  which  we  call  wisdom,  poetry,  virtue.  We 
never  got  it  on  any  dated  calendar  day.  Some 
heavenly  days  must  have  been  intercalated  some¬ 
where,  like  those  that  Hermes  won  with  dice  of  the 
Moon,  that  Osiris  might  be  born.  It  is  said,  all 
martyrdoms  looked  mean  when  they  were  suffered. 
Every  ship  is  a  romantic  object,  except  that  we  sail 
in.  Embark,  and  the  romance  quits  our  vessel, 
and  hangs  on  every  other  sail  in  the  horizon.  Our 
life  looks  trivial,  and  we  shun  to  record  it.  Men 


ILLUSION. 


5  i 


seem  to  have  learned  of  the  horizon  the  art  of 
perpetual  retreating  and  reference.  1  Yonder  up¬ 
lands  are  rich  pasturage,  and  my  neighbor  has 
fertile  meadow,  but  my  field,’  says  the  querulous 
farmer,  ‘  only  holds  the  world  together.’  I  quote 
another  man’s  saying  ;  unluckily,  that  other  with¬ 
draws  himself  in  the  same  way,  and  quotes  me. 
’Tis  the  trick  of  nature  thus  to  degrade  to-day  ;  a 
good  deal  of  buzz,  and  somewhere  a  result  slipped 
magically  in.  Every  roof  is  agreeable  to  the  eye, 
until  it  is  lifted ;  then  we  find  tragedy  and  moan¬ 
ing  women,  and  hard-eyed  husbands,  and  deluges 
of  lethe,  and  the  men  ask,  1  What’s  the  news  ?  ’  as 
if  the  old  were  so  bad.  How  many  individuals  can 
we  count  in  society  ?  how  many  actions  ?  how 
many  opinions  ?  So  much  of  our  time  is  prepara¬ 
tion,  so  much  is  routine,  and  so  much  retrospect, 
that  the  pith  of  each  man’s  genius  contracts  itself 
to  a  very  few  hours.  The  history  of  literature,  — 
take  the  net  result  of  Tirafioschi,  Warton,  or  Schle- 
gel,  — is  a  sum  of  very  few  ideas,  and  of  very  few 
original  tales,  —  all  the  rest  being  variation  of  these. 
So,  in  this  great  society  wide  lying  around  us,  a 
critical  analysis  would  find  very  few  spontaneous 
actions.  It  is  almost  all  custom  and  gross  sense. 
There  are  even  few  opinions,  and  these  seem  or¬ 
ganic  in  the  speakers,  and  do  not  disturb  the  uni« 
versal  necessity. 


52 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


What  opium  is  instilled  into  all  disaster !  It 
shows  formidable  as  we  approach  it,  but  there  is  at 
last  no  rough  rasping  friction,  but  the  most  slippery 
sliding  surfaces :  we  fall  soft  on  a  thought :  Ate 
Dea  is  gentle, 

“  Over  men’s  heads  walking  aloft, 

With  tender  feet  treading  so  soft.” 

People  grieve  and  bemoan  themselves,  but  it  is  not 
half  so  bad  with  them  as  they  say.  There  are 
moods  in  which  we  court  suffering,  in  the  hope 
that  here,  at  least,  we  shall  find  reality,  sharp  peaks 
and  edges  of  truth.  But  it  turns  out  to  be  scene¬ 
painting  and  counterfeit.  The  only  thing  grief 
has  taught  me,  is  to  know  how  shallow  it  is.  That, 
like  all  the  rest,  plays  about  the  surface,  and  never 
introduces  me  into  the  reality,  for  contact  with 
which,  we  would  even  pay  the  costly  price  of  sons 
and  lovers.  Was  it  Boscovich  who  found  out  that 
bodies  never  come  in  contact?  Well,  souls  never 
touch  their  objects.  An  innavigable  sea  washes 
with  silent  waves  between  us  and  the  things  we 
aim  at  and  converse  with.  Grief  too  will  make  us 
idealists.  In  the  death  of  my  son,  now  more  than 
two  years  ago,  I  seem  to  have  lost  a  beautiful  es¬ 
tate, —  no  more.  I  cannot  get  it  nearer  to  me.  If 
to-morrow  I  should  be  informed  of  the  bankruptcy 


ILLUSION. 


53 


of  my  principal  debtors,  the  loss  of  my  property 
would  be  a  great  inconvenience  to  me,  perhaps,  for 
many  years ;  but  it  would  leave  me  as  it  found  me, 
—  neither  better  nor  worse.  So  is  it  with  this  ca¬ 
lamity:  it  does  not  touch  me ;  something  which  I 
fancied  was  a  part  of  me,  which  could  not  be  torn 
away  without  tearing  me,  nor  enlarged  without  en¬ 
riching  me,  falls  off  from  me,  and  leaves  no  scar. 
It  was  caducous.  I  grieve  that  grief  can  teach  me 
nothing,  nor  carry  me  one  step  into  real  nature. 
The  Indian  who  was  laid  under  a  curse,  that  the 
wind  should  not  blow  on  him,  nor  water  flow  to 
him,  nor  fire  burn  him,  is  a  type  of  us  all.  The 
dearest  events  are  summer-rain,  and  we  the  Para 
coats  that  shed  every  drop.  Nothing  is  left  us  now 
but  death.  We  look  to  that  with  a  grim  satisfac¬ 
tion,  saying,  there  at  least  is  reality  that  will  not 
dodge  us. 

I  take  this  evanescence  and  lubricity  of  all  ob¬ 
jects,  which  lets  them  slip  through  our  fingers  then 
when  we  clutch  hardest,  to  be  the  most  unhand¬ 
some  part  of  our  condition.  Nature  does  not  like 
to  be  observed,  and  likes  that  we  should  be  her 
fools  and  playmates.  We  may  have  the  sphere 
for  our  cricket-ball,  but  not  a  berry  for  our  philoso¬ 
phy.  Direct  strokes  she  never  gave  us  power  to 
make ;  all  our  blows  glance,  all  our  hits  are  acci- 
5* 


54 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


dents.  Our  relations  to  each  other  are  oblique  and 
casual. 

Dream  delivers  us  to  dream,  and  there  is  no  end 
to  illusion.  Life  is  a  train  of  moods  like  a  string 
of  beads,  and,  as  we  pass  through  them,  they  prove 
to  be  many-colored  lenses  which  paint  the  world 
their  own  hue,  and  each  shows  only  what  lies  in  its 
focus.  From  the  mountain  you  see  the  mountain. 
We  animate  what  we  can,  and  we  see  only  what  we 
animate.  Nature  and  books  belong  to  the  eyes  that 
see  them.  It  depends  on  the  mood  of  the  man, 
whether  he  shall  see  the  sunset  or  the  fine  poem. 
There  are  always  sunsets,  and  there  is  always  gen¬ 
ius  j  but  only  a  few  hours  so  serene  that  we  can  rel¬ 
ish  nature  or  criticism.  The  more  or  less  depends 
on  structure  or  temperament.  Temperament  is  the 
iron  wire  on  which  the  beads  are  strung.  Of  what 
use  is  fortune  or  talent  to  a  cold  and  defective  na¬ 
ture  ?  Who  cares  what  sensibility  or  discrimination 
a  man  has  at  some  time  shown,  if  he  falls  asleep 
in  his  chair  ?  or  if  he  laugh  and  giggle  ?  or  if  he 
apologize  ?  or  is  infected  with  egotism  ?  or  thinks 
of  his  dollar  ?  or  cannot  go  by  food  ?  or  has  gotten 
a  child  in  his  boyhood  ?  Of  what  use  is  genius,  if 
the  organ  is  too  convex  or  too  concave,  and  can¬ 
not  find  a  focal  distance  within  the  actual  horizon  of 


TEMPERAMENT. 


55 


human  life  ?  Of  what  use,  if  the  brain  is  too  cold 
or  too  hot,  and  the  man  does  not  care  enough  for 
results,  to  stimulate  him  to  experiment,  and  hold  him 
up  in  it  ?  or  if  the  web  is  too  finely  woven,  too 
irritable  by  pleasure  and  pain,  so  that  life  stagnates 
from  too  much  reception,  without  due  outlet  ? 
Of  what  use  to  make  heroic  vows  of  amend¬ 
ment,  if  the  same  old  law-breaker  is  to  keep  them  ? 
What  cheer  can  the  religious  sentiment  yield,  when 
that  is  suspected  to  be  secretly  dependent  on  the 
seasons  of  the  year,  and  the  state  of  the  blood  ?  I 
knew  a  witty  physician  who  found  the  creed  in  the 
biliary  duct,  and  used  to  affirm  that  if  there  was 
disease  in  the  liver,  the  man  became  a  Calvinist, 
and  if  that  organ  was  sound,  he  became  a  Unita¬ 
rian.  Yery  mortifying  is  the  reluctant  experience 
that  some  unfriendly  excess  or  imbecility  neutral¬ 
izes  the  promise  of  genius.  We  see  young  men 
who  owe  us  a  new  world,  so  readily  and  lavishly 
they  promise,  but  they  never  acquit  the  debt j  they 
die  young  and  dodge  the  account  :  or  if  they  live, 
they  lose  themselves  in  the  crowd. 

Temperament  also  enters  fully  into  the  system 
of  illusions,  and  shuts  us  in  a  prison  of  glass  which 
we  cannot  see.  There  is  an  optical  illusion  about 
every  person  we  meet.  In  truth,  they  are  all  crea¬ 
tures  of  given  temperament,  which  will  appear  in  a 
given  character,  whose  boundaries  they  will  never 


56 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


pass  :  but  we  look  at  them,  they  seem  alive,  and  we 
presume  there  is  impulse  in  them.  In  the  moment 
it  seems  impulse  ;  in  the  year,  in  the  lifetime,  it 
turns  out  to  be  a  certain  uniform  tune  which  the 
revolving  barrel  of  the  music-box  must  play.  Men 
resist  the  conclusion  in  the  morning,  but  adopt  it 
as  the  evening  wears  on,  that  temper  prevails  ovei 
everything  of  time,  place,  and  condition,  and  is  in* 
consumable  in  the  flames  of  religion.  Some  modi¬ 
fications  the  moral  sentiment  avails  to  impose,  but 
the  individual  texture  holds  its  dominion,  if  not 
to  bias  the  moral  judgments,  yet  to  fix  the  measure 
of  activity  and  of  enjoyment. 

I  thus  express  the  law  as  it  is  read  from  the  plat¬ 
form  of  ordinary  life,  but  must  not  leave  it  without 
noticing  the  capital  exception.  For  temperament 
is  a  power  which  no  man  willingly  hears  any  one 
praise  but  himself.  On  the  platform  of  physics,  wa 
cannot  resist  the  contracting  influences  of  so-called 
science.  Temperament  puts  all  divinity  to  rout.  I 
know  the  mental  proclivity  of  physicians.  I  hear 
the  chuckle  of  the  phrenologists.  Theoretic  kid¬ 
nappers  and  slave-drivers,  they  esteem  each  man 
the  victim  of  another,  who  winds  him  round  his 
finger  by  knowing  the  law  of  his  being,  and  by 
such  cheap  signboards  as  the  color  of  his  beard,  or 
the  slope  of  his  occiput,  reads  the  inventory  of  his 
fortunes  and  character.  The  grossest  ignorance 


TEMPERAMENT. 


57 


does  not  disgust  like  this  impudent  knowingness. 
The  physicians  say,  they  are  not  materialists ;  but 
they  are  :  —  Spirit  is  matter  reduced  to  an  extreme 
thinness  :  O  so  thin  !  —  But  the  definition  of  spir¬ 
itual  should  be,  that  which  is  its  own  evidence. 
What  notions  do  they  attach  to  love !  what  to  reli¬ 
gion  !  One  would  not  willingly  pronounce  these 
words  in  their  hearing,  and  give  them  the  occasion 
to  profane  them.  I  saw  a  gracious  gentleman  who 
adapts  his  conversation  to  the  form  of  the  head  of 
the  man  he  talks  with !  I  had  fancied  that  the  value 
of  life  lay  in  its  inscrutable  possibilities ;  in  the 
fact  that  I  never  know,  in  addressing  myself  to  a 
new  individual,  what  may  befall  me.  I  carry  the 
keys  of  my  castle  in  my  hand,  ready  to  throw  them 
at  the  feet  of  my  lord,  whenever  and  in  what  dis¬ 
guise  soever  he  shall  appear.  I  know  he  is  in  the 
neighborhood  hidden  among  vagabonds.  Shall  I 
preclude  my  future,  by  taking  a  high  seat,  and 
kindly  adapting  my  conversation  to  the  shape  of 
heads?  When  I  come  to  that,  the  doctors  shall 

buy  me  for  a  cent. - 1  But,  sir,  medical  history  ; 

the  report  to  the  Institute  ;  the  proven  facts  !  ’  —  I 
distrust  the  facts  and  the  inferences.  Temper¬ 
ament  is  the  veto  or  limitation-power  in  the  consti¬ 
tution,  very  justly  applied  to  restrain  an  opposite 
excess  in  the  constitution,  but  absurdly  offered  as  a 
oar  to  original  equity.  When  virtue  is  in  presence, 


58 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


all  subordinate  powers  sleep.  On  its  own  level,  or- 
in  view  of  nature,  temperament  is  final.  I  see  not, 
if  one  be  once  caught  in  this  trap  of  so-called  sci¬ 
ences,  any  escape  for  the  man  from  the  links  of 
the  chain  of  physical  necessity.  Given  such  an 
embryo,  such  a  history  must  follow.  On  this  plat¬ 
form,  one  lives  in  a  sty  of  sensualism,  and  would 
soon  come  to  suicide.  But  it  is  impossible  that  the 
creative  power  should  exclude  itself.  Into  every 
intelligence  there  is  a  door  which  is  never  closed, 
through  which  the  creator  passes.  The  intellect, 
seeker  of  absolute  truth,  or  the  heart,  lover  of 
absolute  good,  intervenes  for  our  succor,  and  at  one 
whisper  of  these  high  powers,  we  awake  from  inef¬ 
fectual  struggles  with  this  nightmare.  We  hurl  it 
into  its  own  hell,  and  cannot  again  contract  our¬ 
selves  to  so  base  a  state. 

The  secret  of  the  illusoriness  is  in  the  necessity 
of  a  succession  of  moods  or  objects.  Gladly  we 
would  anchor,  but  the  anchorage  is  quicksand.  This 
onward  trick  of  nature  is  too  strong  for  us :  Pero 
si  muove.  When,  at  night,  I  look  at  the  moon  and 
stars,  I  seem  stationary,  and  they  to  hurry.  Our 
love  of  the  real  draws  us  to  permanence,  but 
health  of  bod}?-  consists  in  circulation,  and  sanity  of 
mind  in  variety  or  facility  of  association.  We  need 
change  of  objects.  Dedication  to  one  thought  is 


SUCCESSION. 


59 


quickly  odious.  We  house  with  the  insane,  and 
must  humor  them ;  then  conversation  dies  out. 
Once  I  took  such  delight  in  Montaigne,  that  I 
thought  I  should  not  need  any  other  book ;  before 
that,  in  Shakspeare  ;  then  in  Plutarch  ;  then  in  Plo¬ 
tinus  ;  at  one  time  in  Bacon  ;  afterwards  in  Goethe  ; 
even  in  Bettine  ;  but  now  I  turn  the  pages  of  either 
of  them  languidly,  whilst  I  still  cherish  their  genius. 
So  with  pictures ;  each  will  bear  an  emphasis  of 
attention  once,  which  it  cannot  retain,  though  we 
fain  would  continue  to  be  pleased  in  that  manner. 
How  strongly  I  have  felt  of  pictures,  that  when 
you  have  seen  one  well,  you  must  take  your  leave 
of  it ;  you  shall  never  see  it  again.  I  have  had 
good  lessons  from  pictures,  which  I  have  since  seen 
without  emotion  or  remark.  A  deduction  must  be 
made  from  the  opinion,  which  even  the  wise  express 
on  a  new  book  or  occurrence.  Their  opinion  gives 
me  tidings  of  their  mood,  and  some  vague  guess 
at  the  new  fact,  but  is  nowise  to  be  trusted  as 
the  lasting  relation  between  that  intellect  and  that 
thing.  The  child  asks,  1  Mamma,  why  don’t  I  like 
the  story  as  well  as  when  you  told  it  me  yester¬ 
day  ?  ’  Alas,  child,  it  is  even  so  with  the  oldest 
cherubim  of  knowledge.  But  will  it  answer  thy 
question  to  say,  Because  thou  wert  born  to  a  whole, 
and  this  story  is  a  particular  ?  The  reason  of  the 
pain  this  discovery  causes  us  (and  we  make  it  late 


60 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


in  respect  to  works  of  art  and  intellect),  is  the 
plaint  of  tragedy  which  murmurs  from  it  in  regard 
to  persons,  to  friendship  and  love. 

That  immobility  and  absence  of  elasticity  which 
we  find  in  the  arts,  we  find  with  more  pain  in  the 
artist.  There  is  no  power  of  expansion  in  men. 
Our  friends  early  appear  to  us  as  representatives  of 
certain  ideas,  which  they  never  pass  or  exceed. 
They  stand  on  the  brink  of  the  ocean  of  thought 
and  power,  but  they  never  take  the  single  step  that 
would  bring  them  there.  A  man  is  like  a  bit  of 
Labrador  spar,  which  has  no  lustre  as  you  turn  it  in 
your  hand,  until  you  come  to  a  particular  angle ; 
then  it  shows  deep  and  beautiful  colors.  There  is 
no  adaptation  or  universal  applicability  in  men,  but 
each  has  his  special  talent,  and  the  mastery  of  suc¬ 
cessful  men  consists  in  adroitly  keeping  themselves 
where  and  when  that  turn  shall  be  oftenest  to  be 
practised.  We  do  what  we  must,  and  call  it  by 
the  best  names  we  can,  and  would  fain  have  the 
praise  of  having  intended  the  result  which  ensues. 
I  cannot  recall  any  form  of  man  who  is  not  super¬ 
fluous  sometimes.  But  is  not  this  pitiful  ?  Life  is 
not  worth  the  taking,  to  do  tricks  in. 

Of  course,  it  needs  the  whole  society,  to  give  the 
symmetry  we  seek.  The  parti-colored  wheel  must 
revolve  very  fast  to  appear  white.  Something  is 
learned  too  by  conversing  with  so  much  folly  aud 


SURFACE. 


61 


defect.  In  fine,  whoever  loses,  we  are  always  of 
the  gaining  party.  Divinity  is  behind  our  failures 
and  follies  also.  The  plays  of  children  are  non¬ 
sense,  but  very  educative  nonsense.  So  it  is  with 
the  largest  and  solemnest  things,  with  commerce, 
government,  church,  marriage,  and  so  with  the  his¬ 
tory  of  every  man’s  bread,  and  the  ways  by  which 
he  is  to  come  by  it.  Like  a  bird  which  alights  no¬ 
where,  but  hops  perpetually  from  bough  to  bough, 
is  the  Power  which*  abides  in  no  man  and  in  no 
woman,  but  for  a  moment  speaks  from  this  one,  and 
for  another  moment  from  that  one. 

But  what  help  from  these  fineries  or  pedantries  ? 
What  help  from  thought  ?  Life  is  not  dialectics. 
We,  I  think,  in  these  times,  have  had  lessons 
enough  of  the  futility  of  criticism.  Our  young 
people  have  thought  and  written  much  on  labor 
and  reform,  and  for  all  that  they  have  written, 
neither  the  world  nor  themselves  have  got  on  a 
step.  Intellectual  tasting  of  life  will  not  supersede 
muscular  activity.  If  a  man  should  consider  the 
nicety  of  the  passage  of  a  piece  of  bread  down 
his  throat,  he  would  starve.  At  Education-Farm, 
the  noblest  theory  of  life  sat  on  the  noblest  figures 
of  young  men  and  maidens,  quite  powerless  and 
melancholy.  It  would  not  rake  or  pitch  a  ton  of 
nay ;  it  would  not  rub  down  a  horse ;  and  the 

6 


62 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


men  and  maidens  it  left  pale  and  hungry.  A  po¬ 
litical  orator  wittily  compared  our  party  promises 
to  western  roads,  which  opened  stately  enough, 
with  planted  trees  on  either  side,  to  tempt  the 
traveller,  but  soon  became  narrow  and  narrower, 
and  ended  in  a  squirrel-track,  and  ran  up  a  tree. 
So  does  culture  with  us;  it  ends  in  headache. 
Unspeakably  sad  and  barren  does  life  look  to 
those,  who  a  few  months  ago  were  dazzled  with 
the  splendor  of  the  promise  of  the  times.  “  There 
is  now  no  longer  any  right  course  of  action,  nor 
any  self-devotion  left  among  the  Iranis.”  Objec¬ 
tions  and  criticism  we  have  had  our  fill  of.  There 
are  objections  to  every  course  of  life  and  action, 
and  the  practical  wisdom  infers  an  indifferency, 
from  the  omnipresence  of  objection.  The  whole 
frame  of  things  preaches  indifferency.  Do  not 
craze  yourself  with  thinking,  but  go  about  your 
business  anywhere.  Life  is  not  intellectual  or 
critical,  but  sturdy.  Its  chief  good  is  for  well- 
mixed  people  who  can  enjoy  what  they  find, 
without  question.  Nature  hates  peeping,  and  our 
mothers  speak  her  very  sense  when  they  say, 
“Children,  eat  your  victuals,  and  say  no  more  of 
it.”  To  fill  the  hour, — that  is  happiness;  to  fill 
the  hour,  and  leave  no  crevice  for  a  repentance  or 
an  approval.  We  live  amid  surfaces,  and  the  true 
art  of  life  is  to  skate  well  on  them.  Under  the 


SURFACE. 


03 


oldest  mouldiest  conventions,  a  man  of  native 
force  prospers  just  as  well  as  in  the  newest  world, 
and  that  by  skill  of  handling  and  treatment.  He 
can  take  hold  anywhere.  Life  itseT  is  a  mixture 
of  power  and  form,  and  will  not  bear  the  least  ex¬ 
cess  of  either.  To  finish  the  moment,  to  find  the 
journey’s  end  in  every  step  of  the  road,  to  live  the 
greatest  number  of  good  hours,  is  wisdom.  It  is 
not  the  part  of  men,  but  of  fanatics,  or  of  mathe¬ 
maticians,  if  you  will,  to  say,  that,  the  shortness 
of  life  considered,  it  is  not  worth  caring  whether 
for  so  short  a  duration  we  were  sprawling  in  want, 
or  sitting  high.  Since  our  office  is  with  moments, 
let  us  husband  them.  Five  minutes  of  to-day  are 
worth  as  much  to  me,  as  five  minutes  in  the  next 
millennium.  Let  us  be  poised,  and  wise,  and  our 
own,  to-day.  Let  us  treat  the  men  and  women 
well :  treat  them  as  if  they  were  real :  perhaps  they 
are.  Men  live  in  their  fancy,  like  drunkards  whose 
hands  are  too  soft  and  tremulous  for  successful  labor. 
It  is  a  tempest  of  fancies,  and  the  only  ballast  I 
know,  is  a  respect  to  the  present  hour.  Without 
any  shadow  of  doubt,  amidst  this  vertigo  of  shows 
and  politics,  I  settle  myself  ever  the  firmer  in  the 
creed,  that  we  should  not  postpone  and  refer  and 
wish,  but  do  broad  justice  where  we  are,  by  whom¬ 
soever  we  deal  with,  accepting  our  actual  compan¬ 
ions  and  circumstances,  however  humble  or  odious, 


64 


ESSA?  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


as  the  mystic  officials  to  whom  the  universe  has 
delegated  its  whole  pleasure  for  us.  If  these  are 
mean  and  malignant,  their  contentment,  which  is 
the  last  victory  of  justice,  is  a  more  satisfying  echo 
to  the  heart,  than  the  voice  of  poets  and  the  casual 
sympathy  of  admirable  persons.  I  think  that  how¬ 
ever  a  thoughtful  man  may  suffer  from  the  defects 
and  absurdities  of  his  company,  he  cannot  without 
affectation  deny  to  any  set  of  men  and  women,  a 
sensibility  to  extraordinary  merit.  The  coarse  and 
frivolous  have  an  instinct  of  superiority,  if  they 
have  not  a  sympathy,  and  honor  it  in  their  blind 
capricious  way  with  sincere  homage. 

The  fine  young  people  despise  life,  hut  in  me, 
and  in  such  as  with  me  are  free  from  dyspepsia,  and 
to  whom  a  day  is  a  sound  and  solid  good,  it  is  a 
great  excess  of  politeness  to  look  scornful  and  to 
cry  for  company.  I  am  grown  by  sympathy  a  lit¬ 
tle  eager  and  sentimental,  but  leave  me  alone,  and 
I  should  relish  every  hour  and  what  it  brought  me, 
the  potluck  of  the  day,  as  heartily  as  the  oldest  gos¬ 
sip  in  the  bar-room.  I  am  thankful  for  small  mer¬ 
cies.  I  compared  notes  with  one  of  my  friends 
who  expects  everything  of  the  universe,  and  is  dis¬ 
appointed  when  anything  is  less  than  the  best,  and 
I  found  that  I  begin  at  the  other  extreme,  expect¬ 
ing  nothing,  and  am  always  full  of  thanks  for 
moderate  goods.  I  accept  the  clangor  and  jangle 


SURFACE. 


65 


of  contrary  tendencies.  I  find  my  account  in  sots 
and  bores  also.  They  give  a  reality  to  the  circum¬ 
jacent  picture,  which  such  a  vanishing  meteorous 
appearance  can  ill  spare.  In  the  morning  I  awake, 
and  find  the  old  world,  wife,  babes,  and  mother, 
Concord  and  Boston,  the  dear  old  spiritual  world, 
and  even  the  dear  old  devil  not  far  off.  If  we  will 
take  the  good  we  find,  asking  no  questions,  we 
shall  have  heaping  measures.  The  great  gifts  are 
not  got  by  analysis.  Everything  good  is  on  the 
highway.  The  middle  region  of  our  being  is  the 
temperate  zone.  We  may  climb  into  the  thin  and 
cold  realm  of  pure  geometry  and  lifeless  science,  or 
sink  into  that  of  sensation.  Between  these  ex¬ 
tremes  is  the  equator  of  life,  of  thought,  of  spirit, 
of  poetry, — a  narrow  belt.  Moreover,  in  popular 
experience,  everything  good  is  on  the  highway. 
A  collector  peeps  into  all  the  picture-shops  of 
Europe,  for  a  landscape  of  Poussin,  a  crayon-sketch 
of  Salvator ;  but  the  Transfiguration,  the  Last 
Judgment,  the  Communion  of  St.  Jerome,  and 
what  are  as  transcendent  as  these,  are  on  the  walls 
of  the  Vatican,  the  Uffizii,  or  the  Louvre,  where 
every  footman  may  see  them ;  to  say  nothing  of 
nature’s  pictures  in  every  street,  of  sunsets  and  sun¬ 
rises  every  day,  and  the  sculpture  of  the  human 
body  never  absent.  A  collector  recently  bought  at 
public  auction,  in  London,  for  one  hundred  and  fif- 

6* 


66 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


ty-seven  guineas,  an  autograph  of  Shakspeare  :  but 
for  nothing  a  school-boy  can  read  Hamlet,  and  can 
detect  secrets  of  highest  concernment  yet  unpub¬ 
lished  therein.  I  think  I  will  never  read  any  but 
the  commonest  books,  —  the  Bible,  Homer,  Dante, 
Shakspeare,  and  Milton.  Then  we  are  impatient 
of  so  public  a  life  and  plauet,  and  run  hither  and 
thither  for  nooks  and  secrets.  The  imagination 
delights  in  the  woodcraft  of  Indians,  trappers,  and 
bee-hunters.  We  fancy  that  we  are  strangers,  and 
not  so  intimately  domesticated  in  the  planet  as  the 
wild  man,  and  the  wild  beast  and  bird.  But  the 
exclusion  reaches  them  also ;  reaches  the  climbing, 
flying,  gliding,  feathered  and  four-footed  man. 
Fox  an4  woodchuck,  hawk  and  snipe,  and  bittern, 
when  nearly  seen,  have  no  more  root  in  the  deep 
world  than  man,  and  are  just  such  superficial  ten¬ 
ants  of  the  globe.  Then  the  new  molecular  phi¬ 
losophy  shows  astronomical  interspaces  betwixt 
atom  and  atom,  shows  that  the  world  is  all  out¬ 
side  :  it  has  no  inside. 

The  mid-world  is  best.  Nature,  as  we  know 
her,  is  no  saint.  The  lights  of  the  church,  the  as¬ 
cetics,  Gentoos  and  corn-eaters,  she  does  not  dis¬ 
tinguish  by  any  favor.  She  comes  eating  and 
drinking  and  sinning.  Her  darlings,  the  great,  the 
strong,  the  beautiful,  are  not  children  of  our  law, 
do  not  come  out  of  the  Sunday  School,  nor  weigh 


SURFACE. 


67 


their  food,  nor  punctually  keep  the  commandments. 
If  we  will  he  strong  with  her  strength,  we  must 
not  harbor  such  disconsolate  consciences,  borrowed 
too  from  the  consciences  of  other  nations.  We 
must  set  up  the  strong  present  tense  against  all  the 
rumors  of  wrath,  past  or  to  come.  So  many  things 
are  unsettled  which  it  is  of  the  first  importance  to 
settle,  —  and,  pending  their  settlement,  we  will  do 
as  we  do.  Whilst  the  debate  goes  forward  on  the 
equity  of  commerce,  and  will  not  be  closed  for  a 
century  or  two,  New  and  Old  England  may  keep 
shop.  Law  of  copyright  and  international  copy¬ 
right  is  to  be  discussed,  and,  in  the  interim,  we 
will  sell  our  books  for  the  most  we  can.  Expedi¬ 
ency  of  literature,  reason  of  literature,  lawfulness 
of  writing  down  a  thought,  is  questioned  ;  much  is 
to  say  on  both  sides,  and,  while  the  fight  waxes  hot, 
thou,  dearest  scholar,  stick  to  thy  foolish  task,  add 
a  line  every  hour,  and  between  whiles  add  a  line. 
Right  to  hold  land,  right  of  property,  is  disputed, 
and  the  conventions  convene,  and  before  the  vote 
is  taken,  dig  away  in  your  garden,  and  spend  your 
earnings  as  a  waif  or  godsend  to  all  serene  and 
beautiful  purposes.  Life  itself  is  a  bubble  and  a 
skepticism,  and  a  sleep  within  a  sleep.  Grant  it, 
and  as  much  more  as  they  will,  —  but  thou,  God’s 
darling!  heed  thy  private  dream:  thou  wilt  not  be 
missed  in  the  scorning  and  skepticism :  there  are 


68 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


enough  of  them  :  stay  there  in  thy  closet,  and  toil, 
until  the  rest  are  agreed  what  to  do  about  it.  Thy 
sickness,  they  say,  and  thy  puny  habit,  require  that 
thou  do  this  or  avoid  that,  but  know  that  thy  life 
is  a  flitting  state,  a  tent  for  a  night,  and  do  thou, 
sick  or  well,  finish  that  stint.  Thou  art  sick,  but 
shalt  not  be  worse,  and  the  universe,  which  holds 
thee  dear,  shall  be  the  better. 

Human  life  is  made  up  of  the  two  elements, 
power  and  form,  and  the  proportion  must  be  inva¬ 
riably  kept,  if  we  would  have  it  sweet  and  sound. 
Each  of  these  elements  in  excess  makes  a  mischief 
as  hurtful  as  its  defect.  Everything  runs  to  ex¬ 
cess  :  every  good  quality  is  noxious,  if  unmixed, 
and,  to  carry  the  danger  to  the  edge  of  ruin,  nature 
causes  each  man’s  peculiarity  to  superabound. 
Here,  among  the  farms,  we  adduce  the  scholars  as 
examples  of  this  treachery.  They  are  nature’s  vic¬ 
tims  of  expression.  You  who  see  the  artist,  the 
orator,  the  poet,  too  near,  and  find  their  life  no 
more  excellent  than  that  of  mechanics  or  farmers, 
and  themselves  victims  of  partiality,  very  hollow 
and  haggard,  and  pronounce  them  failures,  —  not 
heroes,  but  quacks,  —  conclude  very  reasonably, 
that  these  arts  are  not  for  man,  but  are  disease. 
Yet  nature  will  not  bear  you  out.  Irresistible  na¬ 
ture  made  men  such,  and  makes  legions  more  of 
such,  every  day.  You  love  the  boy  reading  in  a 


SURPRISE. 


69 


book,  gazing  at  a  drawing,  or  a  cast :  yet  what  are 
these  millions  who  read  and  behold,  but  incipient 
writers  and  sculptors?  Add  a  little  more  of  that 
quality  which  now  reads  and  sees,  and  they  will 
seize  the  pen  and  chisel.  And  if  one  remembers 
how  innocently  he  began  to  be  an  artist,  he  per¬ 
ceives  that  nature  joined  with  his  enemy.  A  man 
is  a  golden  impossibility.  The  line  he  must  walk 
is  a  hair’s  breadth.  The  wise  through  excess  of 
wisdom  is  made  a  fool. 

How  easily,  if  fate  would  suffer  it,  we  might 
keep  forever  these  beautiful  limits,  and  adjust  our¬ 
selves,  once  for  all,  to  the  perfect  calculation  of  the 
kingdom  of  known  cause  and  effect.  In  the  street 
and  in  the  newspapers,  life  appears  so  plain  a  busi¬ 
ness,  that  manly  resolution  and  adherence  to  the 
multiplication-table  through  all  weathers,  will  in¬ 
sure  success.  But  ah  !  presently  comes  a  day,  or  is 
it  only  a  half-hour,  with  its  angel-whispering,  -— 
which  discomfits  the  conclusions  of  nations  and  of 
years !  To-morrow  again,  every  thing  looks  real 
and  angular,  the  habitual  standards  are  reinstated, 
common  sense  is  as  rare  as  genius,  —  is  the  basis 
of  genius,  and  experience  is  hands  and  feet  to  every 
enterprise  ;  —  and  yet,  he  who  should  do  his  busi¬ 
ness  on  this  understanding,  would  be  quickly  bank¬ 
rupt.  Power  keeps  quite  another  road  than  the 


70 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


turnpikes  of  choice  and  will,  namely,  the  subter* 
ranean  and  invisible  tunnels  and  channels  of  life. 
It  is  ridiculous  that  we  are  diplomatists,  and  doc¬ 
tors,  and  considerate  people  :  there  are  no  dupes 
like  these.  Life  is  a  series  of  surprises,  and  would 
not  be  worth  taking  or  keeping,  if  it  were  not. 
God  delights  to  isolate  us  every  day,  and  hide  from 
us  the  past  and  the  future.  We  would  look  about 
us,  but  with  grand  politeness  he  draws  down  before 
us  an  impenetrable  screen  of  purest  sky,  and  another 
behind  us  of  purest  sky.  ‘You  will  not  remember,’ 
he  seems  to  say,  ‘  and  you  will  not  expect.’  All 
good  conversation,  manners,  and  action,  come  from 
a  spontaneity  which  forgets  usages,  and  makes 
the  moment  great.  Nature  hates  calculators ;  her 
methods  are  saltatory  and  impulsive.  Man  lives  by 
pulses ;  our  organic  movements  are  such  ;  and  the 
chemical  and  ethereal  agents  are  undulatory  and 
alternate  ;  and  the  mind  goes  antagonizing  on,  and 
never  prospers  but  by  fits.  We  thrive  by  casual¬ 
ties.  Our  chief  experiences  have  been  casual.  The 
most  attractive  class  of  people  are  those  who  are 
powerful  obliquely,  and  not  by  the  direct  stroke : 
men  of  genius,  but  not  yet  accredited  :  one  gets 
the  cheer  of  their  light,  without  paying  too  great  a 
tax.  Theirs  is  the  beauty  of  the  bird,  or  the  morn¬ 
ing  light,  and  not  of  art.  In  the  thought  of  genius 
there  is  always  a  surprise  ;  and  the  moral  sentiment 


SURPRISE. 


71 


is  well  called  “  the  newness,”  for  it  is  never  other  ; 
as  new  to  the  oldest  intelligence  as  to  the  young 
child,  —  “  the  kingdom  that  cometh  without  obser¬ 
vation.”  In  like  manner,  for  practical  success, 
there  must  not  be  too  much  design.  A  man  will 
not  be  observed  in  doing  that  which  he  can  do 
best.  There  is  a  certain  magic  about  his  properest 
action,  which  stupefies  your  powers  of  observation, 
so  that  though  it  is  done  before  you,  you  wist  not 
of  it.  The  art  of  life  has  a  pudency,  and  will  not 
be  exposed.  Every  man  is  an  impossibility,  until 
he  is  born  ;  every  thing  impossible,  until  we  see  a 
success.  The  ardors  of  piety  agree  at  last  with  the 
coldest  skepticism,  —  that  nothing  is  of  us  or  our 
works,  that  all  is  of  God.  Nature  will  not  spare 
us  the  smallest  leaf  of  laurel.  All  writing  comes  by 
the  grace  of  God,  and  all  doing  and  having.  I 
would  gladly  be  moral,  and  keep  due  metes  and 
bounds,  which  I  dearly  love,  and  allow  the  most  to 
the  will  of  man,  but  I  have  set  my  heart  on  honesty 
in  this  chapter,  and  I  can  see  nothing  at  last,  in 
success  or  failure,  than  more  or  less  of  vital  force 
supplied  from  the  Eternal.  The  results  of  life  are 
uncalculated  and  uncalculable.  The  years  teach 
much  which  the  days  never  know.  The  persons 
who  compose  our  company,  converse,  and  come  and 
go,  and  design  and  execute  many  things,  and  some¬ 
what  comes  of  it  all,  but  an  unlooked  for  result. 


72 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


The  individual  is  always  mistaken.  He  designed 
many  things,  and  drew  in  other  persons  as  coadju¬ 
tors,  quarrelled  with  some  or  all,  blundered  much, 
and  something  is  done  ;  all  are  a  little  advanced, 
but  the  individual  is  always  mistaken.  It  turns  out 
somewhat  new,  and  very  unlike  what  he  promised 
himself. 

The  ancients,  struck  with  this  irreducibleness  of 
the  elements  of  human  life  to  calculation,  exalted 
Chance  into  a  divinity,  but  that  is  to  stay  too  long 
at  the  spark,  —  which  glitters  truly  at  one  point,  — 
but  the  universe  is  warm  with  the  latency  of  the 
same  fire.  The  miracle  of  life  which  will  not  be 
expounded,  but  will  remain  a  miracle,  introduces  a 
new  element.  In  the  growth  of  the  embryo,  Sir 
Everard  Home,  I  think,  noticed  that  the  evolution 
was  not  from  one  central  point,  but  coactive  from 
three  or  more  points.  Life  has  no  memory.  That 
which  proceeds  in  succession  might  be  remembered, 
but  that  which  is  coexistent,  or  ejaculated  from  a 
deeper  cause,  as  yet  far  from  being  conscious, 
knows  not  its  own  tendency.  So  is  it  with  us, 
now  skeptical,  or  without  unity,  because  immersed 
in  forms  and  effects  all  seeming  to  be  of  equal  yet 
hostile  value,  and  now  religious,  whilst  in  the 
reception  of  spiritual  law.  Bear  with  these  distrac¬ 
tions,  with  this  coetaneous  growth  of  the  parts : 


REALITY. 


73 


they  will  one  day  be  members ,  and  obey  one  will. 
On  that  one  will,  on  that  secret  cause,  they  nail  our 
attention  and  hope.  Life  is  hereby  melted  into  an 
expectation  or  a  religion.  Underneath  the  inharmo¬ 
nious  and  trivial  particulars,  is  a  musical  perfection, 
the  Ideal  journeying  always  with  us,  the  heaven 
without  rent  or  seam.  Do  but  observe  the  mode 
of  our  illumination.  When  I  converse  with  a  pro¬ 
found  mind,  or  if  at  any  time  being  alone  I  have 
good  thoughts,  I  do  not  at  once  arrive  at  satisfac¬ 
tions,  as  when,  being  thirsty,  I  drink  water,  or  go 
to  the  fire,  being  cold  :  no !  but  I  am  at  first  ap¬ 
prised  of  my  vicinity  to  a  new  and  excellent  region 
of  life.  By  persisting  to  read  or  to  think,  this 
region  gives  further  sign  of  itself,  as  it  were  in 
flashes  of  light,  in  sudden  discoveries  of  its  pro¬ 
found  beauty  and  repose,  as  if  the  clouds  that 
covered  it  parted  at  intervals,  and  showed  the  ap¬ 
proaching  traveller  the  inland  mountains,  with  the 
tranquil  eternal  meadows  spread  at  their  base, 
whereon  flocks  graze,  and  shepherds  pipe  and 
dance.  But  every  insight  from  this  realm  of 
thought  is  felt  as  initial,  and  promises  a  sequel.  I 
do  not  make  it  ;  I  arrive  there,  and  behold  what 
was  there  already.  I  make  !  O  no  !  I  clap  my 
hands  in  infantine  joy  and  amazement,  before  the 
first  opening  to  me  of  this  august  magnificence,  old 
with  the  love  and  homage  of  innumerable  ages, 

7 


74 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


young  with  the  life  of  life,  the  sunbright  Mecca  of 
the  desert.  And  what  a  future  it  opens !  I  feel 
a  new  heart  beating  with  the  love  of  the  new  beauty. 
I  am  ready  to  die  out  of  nature,  and  be  born  again 
into  this  new  yet  unapproachable  America  I  have 
found  in  the  West. 

“  Since  neither  now  nor  yesterday  began 
These  thoughts,  which  have  been  ever,  nor  yet  can 
A  man  be  found  who  their  first  entrance  knew.” 

If  I  have  described  life  as  a  flux  of  moods,  I  must 
now  add,  that  there  is  that  in  us  which  changes 
not,  and  which  ranks  all  sensations  and  states  of 
mind.  The  consciousness  in  each  man  is  a  sliding 
scale,  which  identifies  him  now  with  the  First 
Cause,  and  now  with  the  flesh  of  his  body ;  life 
above  life,  in  infinite  degrees.  The  sentiment  from 
which  it  sprung  determines  the  dignity  of  any  deed, 
and  the  question  ever  is,  not,  what  you  have  done 
or  forborne,  but,  at  whose  command  you  have  done 
or  forborne  it. 

Fortune,  Minerva,  Muse,  Holy  Ghost, — these 
are  quaint  names,  too  narrow  to  cover  this  un¬ 
bounded  substance.  The  baffled  intellect  must  still 
kneel  before  this  cause,  which  refuses  to  be  named, 
—  ineffable  cause,  which  every  fine  genius  has  es¬ 
sayed  to  represent  by  some  emphatic  symbol,  as, 
Thales  by  water,  Anaximenes  by  air,  Anaxagoras 


REALITY. 


75 


by  (Nous)  thought,  Zoroaster  by  fire,  Jesus  and  the 
moderns  by  love :  and  the  metaphor  of  each  has 
become  a  national  religion.  The  Chinese  Mencius 
has  not  been  the  least  successful  in  his  generaliza¬ 
tion.  “  I  fully  understand  language,”  he  said,  “and 
nourish  well  my  vast-flowing  vigor.”  —  “I  beg  to 
ask  what  you  call  vast-flowing  vigor  ?  ”  —  said  his 
companion.  “  The  explanation,”  replied  Mencius, 
“  is  difficult.  This  vigor  is  supremely  great,  and 
in  the  highest  degree  unbending.  Nourish  it  cor¬ 
rectly,  and  do  it  no  injury,  and  it  .will  fill  up  the 
vacancy  between  heaven  and  earth.  This  vigor  ac¬ 
cords  with  and  assists  justice  and  reason,  and  leaves 
no  hunger.”  —  In  our  more  correct  writing,  we 
give  to  this  generalization  the  name  of  Being,  and 
thereby  confess  that  we  have  arrived  as  far  as  we 
can  go.  Suffice  it  for  the  joy  of  the  universe,  that 
we  have  not  arrived  at  a  wall,  but  at  interminable 
oceans.  Our  life  seems  not  present,  so  much  as 
prospective ;  not  for  the  affairs  on  which  it  is  wast¬ 
ed,  but  as  a  hint  of  this  vast-flowing  vigor.  Most 
of  life  seems  to  be  mere  advertisement  of  faculty : 
information  is  given  us  not  to  sell  ourselves  cheap  ; 
that  we  are  very  great.  So,  in  particulars,  our  great¬ 
ness  is  always  in  a  tendency  or  direction,  not  in  an 
action.  It  is  for  us  to  believe  in  the  rule,  not  in 
the  exception.  The  noble  are  thus  known  from 
the  ignoble.  So  in  accepting  the  leading  of  the 


76 


ESSAY  II. 


EXPERIENCE. 


sentiments,  it  is  not  what  we  believe  concerning 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  or  the  like,  but  the  uni - 
versal  impulse  to  believe ,  that  is  the  material  circum¬ 
stance,  and  is  the  principal  fact  in  the  history  of  the 
globe.  Shall  we  describe  this  cause  as  that  which 
works  directly  ?  The  spirit  is  not  helpless  or  need¬ 
ful  of  mediate  organs.  It  has  plentiful  powers  and 
direct  effects.  I  am  explained  without  explaining, 
I  am  felt  without  acting,  and  where  I  am  not.  There¬ 
fore  all  just  persons  are  satisfied  with  their  own 
praise.  They  refuse  to  explain  themselves,  and  are 
content  that  new  actions  should  do  them  that  of¬ 
fice.  They  believe  that  we  communicate  without 
speech,  and  above  speech,  and  that  no  right  action 
of  ours  is  quite  unaffecting  to  our  friends,  at  what¬ 
ever  distance ;  for  the  influence  of  action  is  not  to 
be  measured  by  miles.  Why  should  I  fret  myself, 
because  a  circumstance  has  occurred,  which  hinders 
my  presence  where  I  was  expected  ?  If  I  am  not 
at  the  meeting,  my  presence  where  I  am,  should  be 
as  useful  to  the  commonwealth  of  friendship  and 
wisdom,  as  would  be  my  presence  in  that  place.  1 
exert  the  same  quality  of  power  in  all  places. 
Thus  journeys  the  mighty  Ideal  before  us  ;  it  never 
was  known  to  fall  into  the  rear.  No  man  ever 
came  to  an  experience  which  was  satiating,  but  his 
good  is  tidings  of  a  better.  Onward  and  onward ! 
In  liberated  moments,  we  know  that  a  new  picture 


SUBJECT  OR  THE  ONE. 


77 


of  life  and  duty  is  already  possible ;  the  elements 
already  exist  in  many  minds  around  you,  of  a  doc¬ 
trine  of  life  which  shall  transcend  any  written  rec¬ 
ord  we  have.  The  new  statement  will  comprise 
the  skepticisms,  as  well  as  the  faiths  of  society 
and  out  of  unbeliefs  a  creed  shall  be  formed.  For, 
skepticisms  are  not  gratuitous  or  lawless,  but  are 
limitations  of  the  affirmative  statement,  and  the 
new  philosophy  must  take  them  in,  and  make  affir¬ 
mations  outside  of  them,  just  as  much  as  it  must 
include  the  oldest  beliefs. 

It  is  very  unhappy,  but  too  late  to  be  helped,  the 
discovery  we  have  made,  that  we  exist.  That  dis¬ 
covery  is  called  the  Fall  of  Man.  Ever  afterwards, 
we  suspect  our  instruments.  We  have  learned  that 
we  do  not  see  directly,. but  mediately,  and  that  we 
have  no  means  of  correcting  these  colored  and 
distorting  lenses  which  we  are,  or  of  computing 
the  amount  of  their  errors.  Perhaps  these  subject- 
lenses  have  a  creative  power  j  perhaps  there  are  no 
objects.  Once  we  lived  in  what  we  saw ;  now, 
the  rapaciousness  of  this  new  power,  which  threat¬ 
ens  to  absorb  all  things,  engages  us.  Nature,  art, 
persons,  letters,  religions, — objects,  sucessively 
tumble  in,  and  God  is  but  one  of  its  ideas.  Nature 
and  literature  are  subjective  phenomena  j  every 
evil  and  every  good  thing  is  a  shadow  which  we 
7  # 


78 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


cast.  The  street  is  full  of  humiliations  to  the 
proud.  As  the  fop  contrived  to  dress  his  bailiffs  in 
his  livery,  and  make  them  wait  on  his  guests  at 
table,  so  the  chagrins  which  the  bad  heart  gives 
off  as  bubbles,  at  once  take  form  as  ladies  and 
gentlemen  in  the  street,  shopmen  or  bar-keepers  in 
hotels,  and  threaten  or  insult  whatever  is  threaten- 
able  and  insultable  in  us.  ’Tis  the  same  with  our 
idolatries.  People  forget  that  it  is  the  eye  which 
makes  the  horizon,  and  the  rounding  mind’s  eye 
which  makes  this  or  that  man  a  type  or  representa¬ 
tive  of  humanity  with  the  name  of  hero  or  saint. 
Jesus  the  “  providential  man,”  is  a  good  man  on 
whom  many  people  are  agreed  that  these  optical 
laws  shall  take  effect.  By  love  on  one  part,  and 
by  forbearance  to  press  objection  on  the  other  part, 
it  is  for  a  time  settled,  that  we  will  look  at  him  in 
the  centre  of  the  horizon,  and  ascribe  to  him  the 
properties  that  will  attach  to  any  man  so  seen. 
But  the  longest  love  or  aversion  has  a  speedy  term. 
The  great  and  crescive  self,  rooted  in  absolute  na¬ 
ture,  supplants  all  relative  existence,  and  ruins  the 
kingdom  of  mortal  friendship  and  love.  Marriage 
(in  what  is  called  the  spiritual  world)  is  impossible, 
because  of  the  inequality  between  every  subject 
and  every  object.  The  subject  is  the  receiver  of 
Godhead,  and  at  every  comparison  must  feel  his 
being  enhanced  by  that  cryptic  might.  Though 


SUBJECT  OR  THE  ONE. 


79 


not  in  energy,  yet  by  presence,  this  magazine  of 
substance  cannot  be  otherwise  than  felt :  nor  can 
any  force  of  intellect  attribute  to  the  object  the 
proper  deity  which  sleeps  or  wakes  forever  in  every 
subject.  Never  can  love  make  consciousness  and 
ascription  equal  in  force.  There  will  be  the  same 
gulf  between  every  me  and  thee,  as  between  the 
original  and  the  picture.  The  universe  is  the  bride 
of  the  soul.  All  private  sympathy  is  partial.  Two 
human  beings  are  like  globes,  which  can  touch 
only  in  a  point,  and,  whilst  they  remain  in  contact, 
all  other  points  of  each  of  the  spheres  are  inert ; 
their  turn  must  also  come,  and  the  longer  a  parties 
ular  union  lasts,  the  more  energy  of  appetency  the 
parts  not  in  union  acquire. 

Life  will  be  imaged,  but  cannot  be  divided  nor 
doubled.  Any  invasion  of  its  unity  would  be 
chaos.  The  soul  is  not  twin-born,  but  the  only 
begotten,  and  though  revealing  itself  as  child  in 
time,  child  in  appearance,  is  of  a  fatal  and  universal 
power,  admitting  no  co-life.  Every  day,  every  act 
betrays  the  ill-concealed  deity.  We  believe  in  our¬ 
selves,  as  we  do  not  believe  in  others.  We  permit 
all  things  to  ourselves,  and  that  which  we  call  sin 
in  others,  is  experiment  for  us.  It  is  an.  instance 
of  our  faith  in  ourselves,  that  men  never  speak  of 
orime  as  lightly  as  they  think :  or,  every  man 
thinks  a  latitude  safe  for  himself,  which  is  nowise 


80 


ESSAY  II.  EXPERIENCE. 


to  be  indulged  to  another.  The  act  looks  very  dif¬ 
ferently  on  the  inside,  and  on  the  outside  ;  in  its 
quality,  and  in  its  consequences.  Murder  in  the 
murderer  is  no  such  ruinous  thought  as  poets  and 
romancers  will  have  it ;  it  does  not  unsettle  him,  or 
fright  him  from  his  ordinary  notice  of  trifles :  it  is 
an  act  quite  easy  to  be  contemplated,  but  in  its 
sequel,  it  turns  out  to  be  a  horrible  jangle  and  con¬ 
founding  of  all  relations.  Especially  the  crimes 
that  spring  from  love,  seem  right  and  fair  from  the 
actor’s  point  of  view,  but,  when  acted,  are  found 
destructive  of  society.  No  man  at  last  believes 
that  he  can  be  lost,  nor  that  the  crime  in  him  is  as 
black  as  in  the  felon.  Because  the  intellect  qual¬ 
ifies  in  our  own  case  the  moral  judgments.  For 
there  is  no  crime  to  the  intellect.  That  is  antino- 
mian  or  hypernomian,  and  judges  law  as  well  as 
fact.  u  It  is  worse  than  a  crime,  it  is  a  blunder,” 
said  Napoleon,  speaking  the  language  of  the  intel¬ 
lect.  To  it,  the  world  is  a  problem  in  mathematics 
or  the  science  of  quantity,  and  it  leaves  out  praise 
and  blame,  and  all  weak  emotions.  All  stealing  is 
comparative.  If  you  come  to  absolutes,  pray  who 
does  not  steal  ?  Saints  are  sad,  because  they  behold 
sin,  (even  when  they  speculate,)  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  conscience,  and  not  of  the  intellect  ; 
a  confusion  of  thought.  Sin  seen  from  the  thought, 
is  a  diminution  or  less :  seen  from  the  conscience 


SUBJECT  OR  THE  ONE. 


81 


or  will,  it  is  pravity  or  bad.  The  intellect  names  it 
shade,  absence  of  light,  and  no  essence.  The  con¬ 
science  must  feel  it  as  essence,  essential  evil.  This 
it  is  not :  it  has  an  objective  existence,  but  no 
subjective.  A 

X 

Thus  inevitably  does  the  universe  wear  our  color, 
and  every  object  fall  successively  into  the  subject 
itself.  The  subject  exists,  the  subject  enlarges ; 
all  things  sooner  or  later  fall  into  place.  As  I  am, 
so  I  see ;  use  what  language  we  will,  we  can  never 
say  any  thing  but  what  we  are  ;  Hermes,  Cadmus, 
Columbus,  Newton,  Bonaparte,  are  the  mind’s 
ministers.  Instead  of  feeling  a  poverty  when  we 
encounter  a  great  man,  let  us  treat  the  new  comer 
like  a  travelling  geologist,  who  passes  through  our 
estate,  and  shows  us  good  slate,  or  limestone,  or 
anthracite,  in  our  brush  pasture.  The  partial  action 
of  each  strong  mind  in  one  direction,  is  a  telescope 
for  the  objects  on  which  it  is  pointed.  But  every 
other  part  of  knowledge  is  to  be  pushed  to  the 
same  extravagance,  ere  the  soul  attains  her  due 
sphericity.  Do  you  see  that  kitten  chasing  so 
prettily  her  own  tail  ?  If  you  could  look  with  her 
eyes,  you  might  see  her  surrounded  with  hundreds 
of  figures  performing  complex  dramas,  with  tragic 
and  comic  issues,  long  conversations,  many  charac¬ 
ters,  many  ups  and  downs  of  fate,  —  and  meantime 
it  is  only  puss  and  her  tail.  How  long  before  out 


82 


ESSAY  II.  EXPEIRENCE. 


masquerade  will  end  its  noise  of  tambourines,  laugh¬ 
ter,  and  shouting,  and  we  shall  find  it  was  a  solitary 
performance  ?  —  A  subject  and  an  object,  —  it  takes 
so  much  to  make  the  galvanic  circuit  complete,  but 
magnitude  adds  nothing.  What  imports  it  whether 
it  is  Kepler  and  the  sphere ;  Columbus  and  Amer¬ 
ica  ;  a  reader  and  his  book  ;  or  puss  with  her  tail  ? 

It  is  true  that  all  the  muses  and  love  and  religion 
hate  these  developments,  and  will  find  a  way  to 
punish  the  chemist,  who  publishes  in  the  parlor  the 
secrets  of  the  laboratory.  And  we  cannot  say  to”) 
little  of  our  constitutional  necessity  of  seeing  things 
under  private  aspects,  or  saturated  with  our  humors. 
And  yet  is  the  God  the  native  of  these  bleak  rocks. 
That  need  makes  in  morals  the  capital  virtue  of 
self-trust.  We  must  hold  hard  to  this  poverty, 
however  scandalous,  and  by  more  vigorous  self¬ 
recoveries,  after  the  sallies  of  action,  possess  our 
axis  more  firmly.  The  life  of  truth  is  cold,  and  so 
far  mournful ;  but  it  is  not  the  slave  of  tears,  con¬ 
tritions,  and  perturbations.  It  does  not  attempt 
another’s  work,  nor  adopt  another’s  facts.  It  is  a 
main  lesson  of  wisdom  to  know  your  own  from 
another’s.  I  have  learned  that  I  cannot  dispose  of 
other  people’s  facts;  but  I  possess  such  a  key  to 
my  own,  as  persuades  me  against  all  their  denials, 
that  they  also  have  a  key  to  theirs.  A  sympathetic 
person  is  placed  in  the  dilemma  of  a  swimmer 


EXPERIENCE. 


83 


among  drowning  men,  who  all  catch  at  him,  and 
if  he  give  so  much  as  a  leg  or  a  finger,  they  will 
drown  him.  They  wish  to  be  saved  from  the  mis¬ 
chiefs  of  their  vices,  but  not  from  their  vices. 
Charity  would  be  wasted  on  this  poor  waiting  on 
the  symptoms.  A  wise  and  hardy  physician  will 
say,  Come  out  of  that ,  as  the  first  condition  of  ad¬ 
vice. 

In  this  our  talking  America,  we  are  ruined  by 
our  good  nature  and  listening  on  all  sides.  This 
compliance  takes  away  the  power  of  being  greatly 
useful.  A  man  should  not  be  able  to  look  other 
than  directly  and  forthright.  A  preoccupied  atten¬ 
tion  is  the  only  answer  to  the  importunate  frivolity 
of  other  people  :  an  attention,  and  to  an  aim  which 
makes  their  wants  frivolous.  This  is  a  divine 
•answer,  and  leaves  no  appeal,  and  no  hard  thoughts. 
In  Flaxman’s  drawing  of  the  Eumenides  of 
JEschylus,  Orestes  supplicates  Apollo,  whilst  the 
Furies  sleep  on  the  threshold.  The  face  of  the 
god  expresses  a  shade  of  regret  and  compassion, 
but  calm  with  the  conviction  of  the  irreconcilable¬ 
ness  of  the  two  spheres.  He  is  born  into  other  poli¬ 
tics,  into  the  eternal  and  beautiful.  The  man  at  his 
feet  asks  for  his  interest  in  turmoils  of  the  earth, 
into  which  his  nature  cannot  enter.  And  the 
Eumenides  there  lying  express  pictorially  this  dis- 


84 


ESSAY  II. 


parity.  The  god  is  surcharged  with  his  divine  des¬ 
tiny. 

Illusion,  Temperament,  Succession,  Surface,  Sur¬ 
prise,  Reality,  Subjectiveness,  —  these  are  threads 
on  the  loom  of  time,  these  are  the  lords  of  life. 
I  dare  not  assume  to  give  their  order,  but  I  name 
them  as  I  find  them  in  my  way.  I  know  better 
than  to  claim  any  completeness  for  my  picture.  I 
am  a  fragment,  and  this  is  a  fragment  of  me.  I  can 
very  confidently  announce  one  or  another  law, 
which  throws  itself  into  relief  and  form,  but  I  am 
too  young  yet  by  some  ages  to  compile  a  code.  I 
gossip  for  my  hour  concerning  the  eternal  politics. 
I  have  seen  many  fair  pictures  not  in  vain.  A  won¬ 
derful  time  I  have  lived  in.  I  am  not  the  novice  I 
was  fourteen,  nor  yet  seven  years  ago.  Let  who 
will  ask,  where  is  the  fruit  ?  I  find  a  private  fruit 
sufficient.  This  is  a  fruit,  • —  that  I  should  not  ask 
for  a  rash  effect  from  meditations,  counsels,  and  the 
hiving  of  truths.  I  should  feel  it  pitiful  to  demand 
a  result  on  this  town  and  county,  an  overt  effect  on 
the  instant  month  and  year.  The  effect  is  deep 
and  secular  as  the  cause.  It  works  on  periods  in 
which  mortal  lifetime  is  lost.  All  I  know  is  recep¬ 
tion  ;  I  am  and  I  have  :  but  I  do  not  get,  and  when 
l  have  fancied  I  had  gotten  anything,  I  found  I  did 


EXPERIENCE. 


85 


not.  I  worship  with  wonder  the  great  Fortune. 
My  reception  has  been  so  large,  that  I  am  not  an¬ 
noyed  by  receiving  this  or  that  superabundantly. 
I  say  to  the  Genius,  if  he  will  pardon  the  proverb, 
In  for  a  mill,  in  for  a  million.  When  I  receive  a 
new  gift,  I  do  not  macerate  my  body  to  make  the 
account  square,  for,  if  I  should  die,  I  could  not 
make  the  account  square.  The  benefit  overran  the 
merit  the  first  day,  and  has  overran  the  merit  ever 
since.  The  merit  itself,  so-called,  I  reckon  part  of 
the  receiving. 

Also,  that  hankering  after  an  overt  or  practical 
effect  seems  to  me  an  apostasy.  In  good  earnest, 
I  am  willing  to  spare  this  most  unnecessary  deal  of 
doing.  Life  wears  to  me  a  visionary  face.  Hard¬ 
est,  roughest  action  is  visionary  also.  It  is  but  a 
choice  between  soft  and  turbulent  dreams.  People 
disparage  knowing  and  the  intellectual  life,  and 
urge  doing.  I  am  very  content  with  knowing,  if 
only  I  could  know.  That  is  an  august  entertain¬ 
ment,  and  would  suffice  me  a  great  while.  To 
know  a  little,  would  be  worth  the  expense  of  this 
world.  I  hear  always  the  law  of  Adrastia,  “  that 
every  soul  which  had  acquired  any  truth,  should 
be  safe  from  harm  until  another  period.” 

I  know  that  the  world  I  converse  with  in  the 
city  and  in  the  farms,  is  not  the  world  I  think.  I 

8 


86 


ESSAY  II. 


observe  that  difference,  and  shall  observe  it.  One 
day,  I  shall  know  the  value  and  law  of  this  dis¬ 
crepance.  But  I  have  not  found  that  much  was 
gained  by  manipular  attempts  to  realize  the  world 
of  thought.  Many  eager  persons  successively  make 
an  experiment  in  this  way,  and  make  themselves 
ridiculous.  They  acquire  democratic  manners, 
they  foam  at  the  mouth,  they  hate  and  deny. 
Worse,  I  observe,  that,  in  the  history  of  mankind, 
there  is  never  a  solitary  example  of  success, — 
taking  their  own  tests  of  success.  I  say  this  polem¬ 
ically,  or  in  reply  to  the  inquiry,  why  not  realize 
your  world  ?  But  far  be  from  me  the  despair 
which  prejudges  the  law  by  a  paltry  empiricism,  — 
since  there  never  was  a  right  endeavor,  but  it  suc¬ 
ceeded.  Patience  and  patience,  we  shall  win  at 
the  last.  We  must  be  very  suspicious  of  the  decep¬ 
tions  of  the  element  of  time.  It  takes  a  good  deal 
of  time  to  eat  or  to  sleep,  or  to  earn  a  hundred  dol¬ 
lars,.  and  a  very  little  time  to  entertain  a  hope  and 
an  insight  which  becomes  the  light  of  our  life.  We 
dress  our  garden,  eat  our  dinners,  discuss  the  house¬ 
hold  with  our  wives,  and  these  things  make  no 
impression,  are  forgotten  next  week ;  but  in  the 
solitude  to  which  every  man  is  always  returning, 
he  has  a  sanity  and  revelations,  which  in  his  pas- 
sage  into  new  worlds  he  will  carry  with  him. 


EXPERIENCE. 


87 


Never  mind  the  ridicule,  never  mind  the  defeat: 
up  again,  old  heart !  —  it  seems  to  say,  —  there  is 
victory  yet  for  all  justice ;  and  the  true  romance 
which  the  world  exists  to  realize,  will  be  the  trans¬ 
formation  of  genius  into  practical  power. 


i  s 


CHARACTER. 


The  sun  set ;  but  set  not  his  hope  : 

Stars  rose  ;  his  faith  was  earlier  up : 
Fixed  on  the  enormous  galaxy, 

Deeper  and  older  seemed  his  eye  : 

And  matched  his  sufferance  sublime 
The  taciturnity  of  time. 

He  spoke,  and  words  more  soft  than  rain 
Brought  the  Age  of  Gold  again : 

His  action  won  such  reverence  sweet, 

As  hid  all  measure  of  the  feat. 

8  * 


Work  of  his  hand 

He  nor  commends  nor  grieves 

Pleads  for  itself  the  fact ; 

As  unrepenting  Nature  leaves 
Her  every  act. 


ESSAY  III. 


CHARACTER. 


I  have  read  that  those  who  listened  to  Lord 
Chatham  felt  that  there  was  something  finer  in  the 
man,  than  any  thing  which  he  said.  It  has  been  com¬ 
plained  of  our  brilliant  English  historian  of  the 
French  Revolution,  that  when  he  has  told  all  his  facts 
about  Mirabeau,  they  do  not  justify  his  estimate  of 
his  genius.  The  Gracchi,  Agis,  Cleomenes,  and 
others  of  Plutarch’s  heroes,  do  not  in  the  record  of 
facts  equal  their  own  fame.  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  the 
Earl  of  Essex,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  are  men  of  great 
figure,  and  of  few  deeds.  We  cannot  find  the  small¬ 
est  part  of  the  personal  weight  of  Washington,  in 
the  narrative  of  his  exploits.  The  authority  of  the 
name  of  Schiller  is  too  great  for  his  books.  This 
inequality  of  the  reputation  to  the  works  or  the  an¬ 
ecdotes,  is  not  accounted  for  by  saying  that  the 
reverberation  is  longer  than  the  thunder-clap ;  but 
somewhat  resided  in  these  men  which  begot  an 


92 


ESSAY  III. 


expectation  that  outran  all  their  performance.  The 
largest  part  of  their  power  was  latent.  This  is 
that  which  we  call  Character,  —  a  reserved  force 
which  acts  directly  by  presence,  and  without 
means.  It  is  conceived  of  as  a  certain  undemonstra- 
ble  force,  a  Familiar  or  Genius,  by  whose  impulses 
the  man  is  guided,  but  whose  counsels  he  cannot 
impart ;  which  is  company  for  him,  so  that  such 
men  are  often  solitary,  or  if  they  chance  to  be 
social,  do  not  need  society,  but  can  entertain  them¬ 
selves  very  well  alone.  The  purest  literary  talent 
appears  at  one  time  great,  at  another  time  small,  but 
character  is  of  a  stellar  and  undiminishable  great¬ 
ness.  What  others  effect  by  talent  or  by  eloquence, 
this  man  accomplishes  hy  some  magnetism.  “  Half 
his  strength  he  put  not  forth.”  His  victories  are  by 
demonstration  of  superiority,  and  not  by  crossing 
of  bayonets.  He  conquers,  because  his  arrival 
alters  the  face  of  affairs.  1  “  O  Iole  !  how  did  you 
know  that  Hercules  was  a  god  ?  ”  “  Because,”  an¬ 

swered  Iole,  “  I  was  content  the  moment  my  eyes 
fell  on  him.  When  I  beheld  Theseus,  I  desired 
that  I  might  see  him  offer  battle,  or  at  least  guide 
his  horses  in  the  chariot-race  ;  but  Hercules  did 
not  wait  for  a  contest ;  he  conquered  whether  he 
stood,  or  walked,  or  sat,  or  whatever  thing  he 
did.”  J  Man,  ordinarily  a  pendant  to  events,  only 
half  attached,  and  that  awkwardly,  tc  the  world  he 


CHARACTER. 


93 


lives  in,  in  these  examples  appears  to  share  the  life 
of  things,  and  to  be  an  expression  of  the  same 
laws  which  control  the  tides  and  the  sun,  numbers 
and  quantities. 

But  to  use  a  more  modest  illustration,  and  nearer 
home,  I  observe,  that  in  our  political  elections, 
where  this  element,  if  it  appears  at  all,  can  only 
occur  in  its  coarsest  form,  we  sufficiently  under¬ 
stand  its  incomparable  rate.  The  people  know 
that  they  need  in  their  representative  much  more 
than  talent,  namely,  the  power  to  make  his  talent 
trusted.  They  cannot  come  at  their  ends  by  send¬ 
ing  to  Congress  a  learned,  acute,  and  fluent  speaker, 
if  he  be  not  one,  who,  before  he  was  appointed  by 
the  people  to  represent  them,  was  appointed  by  Al¬ 
mighty  God  to  stand  for  a  fact,  —  invincibly  per¬ 
suaded  of  that  fact  in  himself,  —  so  that  the  most 
confident  and  the  most  violent  persons  learn  that 
here  is  resistance  on  which  both  impudence  and 
terror  are  wasted,  namely,  faith  in  a  fact.  The 
men  who  carry  their  points  do  not  need  to  inquire 
of  their  consitutents  what  they  should  say,  but  are 
themselves  the  country  which  they  represent :  no¬ 
where  are  its  emotions  or  opinions  so  instant  and 
true  as  in  them ;  nowhere  so  pure  from  a  selfish 
infusion.  The  constituency  at  home  hearkens  to 
their  words,  watches  the  color  of  their  cheek,  and 
therein,  as  in  a  glass,  dresses  its  own.  Our  public 


94 


ESSAY  III. 


assemblies  are  pretty  good  tests  of  manly  force. 
Our  frank  countrymen  of  the  west  and  south  have 
a  taste  for  character,  and  like  to  know  whether  the 
New  Englander  is  a  substantial  man,  or  whether 
the  hand  can  pass  through  him. 

The  same  motive  force  appears  in  trade.  There 
are  geniuses  in  trade,  as  well  as  in  war,  or  the  state, 
or  letters  ;  and  the  reason  why  this  or  that  man  is 
fortunate,  is  not  to  be  told.  It  lies  in  the  man : 
that  is  all  anybody  can  tell  you  about  it.  See 
him,  and  you  will  know  as  easily  why  he  suc¬ 
ceeds,  as,  if  you  see  Napoleon,  you  would  compre¬ 
hend  his  fortune.  In  the  new  objects  we  recognize 
the  old  game,  the  habit  of  fronting  the  fact,  and 
not  dealing  with  it  at  second  hand,  through  the 
perceptions  of  somebody  else.  Nature  seems  to 
authorize  trade,  as  soon  as  you  see  the  natural 
merchant,  who  appears  not  so  much  a  private 
agent,  as  her  factor  and  Minister  of  Commerce. 
His  natural  probity  combines  with  his  insight  into 
the  fabric  of  society,  to  put  him  above  tricks,  and 
he  communicates  to  all  his  own  faith,  that  con¬ 
tracts  are  of  no  private  interpretation.  The  habit 
of  his  mind  is  a  reference  to  standards  of  natural 
equity  and  public  advantage  j  and  he  inspires  re¬ 
spect,  and  the  wish  to  deal  with  him,  both  for  the 
quiet  spirit  of  honor  which  attends  him,  and  for 
the  intellectual  pastime  which  the  spectacle  of  so 


CHARACTER. 


95 


much  ability  affords.  This  immensely  stretched 
trade,  which  makes  the  capes  of  the  Southern 
Ocean  his  wharves,  and  the  Atlantic  Sea  his  fa¬ 
miliar  port,  centres  in  his  brain  only ;  and  nobody 
in  the  universe  can  make  his  place  good.  In  his 
parlor,  I  see  very  well  that  he  has  been  at  hard 
work  this  morning,  with  that  knitted  brow,  and 
that  settled  humor,  which  all  his  desire  to  be  cour¬ 
teous  cannot  shake  off.  I  see  plainly  how  many 
firm  acts  have  been  done  ;  how  many  valiant  noes 
have  this  day  been  spoken,  when  others  would 
have  uttered  ruinous  yeas.  I  see,  with  the  pride 
of  art,  and  skill  of  masterly  arithmetic  and  power 
of  remote  combination,  the  consciousness  of  being 
an  agent  and  playfellow  of  the  original  laws  of 
the  world.  He  too  believes  that  none  can  supply 
him,  and  that  a  man  must  be  born  to  trade,  or  he 
cannot  learn  it. 

This  virtue  draws  the  mind  more,  when  it  ap¬ 
pears  in  action  to  ends  not  so  mixed.  It  works  with 
most  energy  in  the  smallest  companies  and  in  pri¬ 
vate  relations.  In  all  cases,  it  is  an  extraordinary 
and  incomputable  agent.  The  excess  of  physical 
strength  is  paralyzed  by  it.  Higher  natures  over¬ 
power  lower  ones  by  affecting  them  with  a  cer¬ 
tain  sleep.  The  faculties  are  locked  up,  and  offer 
no  resistance.  Perhaps  that  is  the  universal  law. 
When  the  high  cannot  bring  up  the  low  to  itself, 


96 


ESSAY  III. 


it  benumbs  it,  as  man  charms  down  the  resistance 
of  the  lower  animals.  Men  exert  on  each  other  a 
similar  occult  power.  How  often  has  the  influ¬ 
ence  of  a  true  master  realized  all  the  tales  of 
magic !  A  river  of  command  seemed  to  run  down 
from  his  eyes  into  all  those  who  beheld  him,  a  tor¬ 
rent  of  strong  sad  light,  like  an  Ohio  or  Danube, 
which  pervaded  them  with  his  thoughts,  and  col¬ 
ored  all  events  with  the  hue  of  his  mind.  “  What 
means  did  you  employ  ?  ”  was  the  question  asked 
of  the  wife  of  Concini,  in  regard  to  her  treatment 
of  Mary  of  Medici ;  and  the  answer  was,  “  Only 
that  influence  which  every  strong  mind  has  over  a 
weak  one.”  Cannot  Caesar  in  irons  shuffle  off  the 
irons,  and  transfer  them  to  the  person  of  Hippo  or 
Thraso  the  turnkey  ?  Is  an  iron  handcuff  so  im¬ 
mutable  a  bond  ?  Suppose  a  slaver  on  the  coast 
of  Guinea  should  take  on  board  a  gang  of  negroes, 
which  should  contain  persons  of  the  stamp  of 
Toussaint  L’Ouverture  .  or,  let  us  fancy,  under 
these  swarthy  masks  he  has  a  gang  of  Washing¬ 
tons  in  chains.  When  they  arrive  at  Cuba,  will 
the  relative  order  of  the  ship’s  company  be  the 
same  ?  Is  there  nothing  but  rope  and  iron  ?  Is 
there  no  love,  no  reverence  ?  Is  there  never  a 
glimpse  of  right  in  a  poor  slave-captain’s  mind  ; 
and  cannot  these  be  supposed  available  to  break, 
or  elude,  or  in  any  manner  overmatch  the  tension 
of  an  inch  or  two  of  iron  ring  ? 


CHARACTER. 


97 


This  is  a  natural  power,  like  light  and  heat,  and 
all  nature  cooperates  with  it.  The  reason  why  we 
feel  one  man’s  presence,  and  do  not  feel  another’s, 
is  as  simple  as  gravity.  Truth  is  the  summit  of 
being ;  justice  is  the  application  of  it  to  affairs. 
All  individual  natures  stand  in  a  scale,  according  to 
the  purity  of  this  element  in  them.  The  will  of 
the  pure  runs  down  from  them  into  other  natures, 
as  water  runs  down  from  a  higher  into  a  lower  ves¬ 
sel.  This  natural  force  is  no  more  to  be  withstood, 
than  any  other  natural  force.  We  can  drive  a 
stone  upward  for  a  moment  into  the  air,  but  it  is 
yet  true.that  all  stones  will  forever  fall ;  and  what¬ 
ever  instances  can  be  quoted  of  unpunished  theft, 
or  of  a  lie  which  somebody  credited,  justice  must 
prevail,  and  it  is  the  privilege  of  truth  to  make 
itself  believed.  Character  is  this  moral  order  seen 
through  the  medium  of  an  individual  nature.  An 
individual  is  an  encloser.  Time  and  space,  liberty 
and  necessity,  truth  and  thought,  are  left  at  large  no 
longer.  Now,  the  universe  is  a  close  or  pound. 
All  things  exist  in  the  man  tinged  with  the  man¬ 
ners  of  his  soul.  With  what  quality  is  in  him,  he 
infuses  all  nature  that  he  can  reach;  nor  does  he 
tend  to  lose  himself  in  vastness,  but,  at  how  long 
a  curve  soever,  all  his  regards  return  into  his  own 
good  at  last.  He  animates  all  he  can,  and  he  sees 
only  what  he  animates.  He  encloses  the  world, 

9 


98 


ESSAIT  in. 


as  the  patriot  does  his  country,  as  a  material  basis 
for  his  character,  and  a  theatre  for  action.  A 
healthy  soul  stands  united  with  the  Just  and  the 
True,  as  the  magnet  arranges  itself  with  the  pole, 
so  that  he  stands  to  all  beholders  like  a  transparent 
object  betwixt  them  and  the  sun,  and  whoso  jour¬ 
neys  towards  the  sun,  journeys  towards  that  person. 
He  is  thus  the  medium  of  the  highest  influence  to 
all  who  are  not  on  the  same  level.  Thus,  men  of 
character  are  the  conscience  of  the  society  to 
which  they  belong. 

The  natural  measure  of  this  power  is  the  resist¬ 
ance  of  circumstances.  Impure  men  consider  life 
as  it  is  reflected  in  opinions,  events,  and  persons. 
They  cannot  see  the  action,  until  it  is  done.  Yet 
its  moral  element  preexisted  in  the  actor,  and  its 
quality  as  right  or  wrong,  it  was  easy  to  predict. 
Everything  in  nature  is  bipolar,  or  has  a  positive 
and  negative  pole.  There  is  a  male  and  a  female,  a 
spirit  and  a  fact,  a  north  and  a  south.  Spirit  is  the 
positive,  the  event  is  the  negative.  Will  is  the 
north,  action  the  south  pole.  Character  may  be 
ranked  as  having  its  natural  place  in  the  north.  It 
shares  the  magnetic  currents  of  the  system.  The 
feeble  souls  are  drawn  to  the  south  or  negative  pole. 
They  look  at  the  profit  or  hurt  of  the  action. 
They  never  behold  a  principle  until  it  is  lodged  in 
a  person.  They  do  not  wish  to  be  lovely,  but  to  be 


CHARACTER. 


99 


loved.  Men  of  character  like  to  hear  of  their 
faults:  the  other  class  do  not  like  to  hear  of 
faults ;  they  worship  events  ;  secure  to  them  a  fact, 
a  connection,  a  certain  chain  of  circumstances,  and 
they  will  ask  no  more.  The  hero  sees  that  the 
event  is  ancillary :  it  must  follow  him.  A  given 
order  of  events  has  no  power  to  secure  to  him  the 
satisfaction  which  the  imagination  attaches  to 
it ;  the  sotil  of  goodness  escapes  from  any  set  of 
circumstances,  whilst  prosperity  belongs  to  a  cer¬ 
tain  mind,  and  will  introduce  that  power  and  vic¬ 
tory  which  is  its  natural  fruit,  into  any  order  of 
events.  No  change  of  circumstances  can  repair  a 
defect  of  character.  We  boast  our  emancipation 
from  many  superstitions;  but  if  we  have  broken 
any  idols,  it  is  through  a  transfer  of  the  idolatry. 
What  have  I  gained,  that  I  no  longer  immolate  a 
bull  to  Jove,  or  to  Neptune,  or  a  mouse  to  Hecate  ; 
that  I  do  not  tremble  before  the  Eumenides,  or  the 
Catholic  Purgatory,  or  the  Calvinistic  Judgment- 
day, —  if  I  quake  at  opinion,  the  public  opinion,  as 
we  call  it ;  or  at  the  threat  of  assault,  or  contumely, 
or  bad  neighbors,  or  poverty,  or  mutilation,  or  at 
the  rumor  of  revolution,  or  of  murder  ?  If  I  quake, 
what* matters  it  what  I  quake  at?  Our  proper  vice 
takes  form  in  one  or  another  shape,  according  to  the 
sex,  age,  or  temperament  of  the  person,  and,  if  we 
are  capable  of  fear,  will  readily  find  terrors.  The 


100 


ESSAY  III. 


covetousness  or  the  malignity  which  saddens  me. 
when  I  ascribe  it  to  society,  is  my  own.  I  am 
always  environed  by  myself.  On  the  other  part, 
rectitude  is  a  perpetual  victory,  celebrated  not  by 
cries  of  joy,  but  by  serenity,  which  is  joy  fixed  or 
habitual.  It  is  disgraceful  to  fly  to  events  for  con¬ 
firmation  of  our  truth  and  worth.  The  capitalist 
does  not  run  every  hour  to  the  broker,  to  coin  his 
advantages  into  current  money  of  the  realm ;  he  is 
satisfied  to  read  in  the  quotations  of  the  market, 
that  his  stocks  have  risen.  The  same  transport 
which  the  occurrence  of  the  best  events  in  the  best 
order  would  occasion  me,  I  must  learn  to  taste 
purer  in  the  perception  that  my  position  is  every 
hour  meliorated,  and  does  already  command  those 
events  I  desire.  That  exultation  is  only  to  be 
checked  by  the  foresight  of  an  order  of  things  so 
excellent,  as  to  throw  all  our  prosperities  into  the 
deepest  shade. 

The  face  which  character  wears  to  me  is  self- 
sufficingness.  I  revere  the  person  who  is  riches ; 
so  that  I  cannot  think  of  him  as  alone,  or  poor,  or 
exiled,  or  unhappy,  or  a  client,  but  as  perpetual  pa¬ 
tron,  benefactor,  and  beatified  man.  Character  is 
centrality,  the  impossibility  of  being  displaced  or 
overset.  A  man  should  give  us  a  sense  of  mass. 
Society  is  frivolous,  and  shreds  its  day  into  scraps, 
its  conversation  into  ceremonies  and  escapes.  But 


CHARACTER. 


101 


if  I  go  to  see  an  ingenious  man,  I  shall  think  my¬ 
self  poorty  entertained  if  he  give  me  nimble  pieces 
of  benevolence  and  etiquette  ;  rather  he  shall  stand 
stoutly  in  his  place,  and  let  me  apprehend,  if  it 
were  only  his  resistance  ;  know  that  I  have  encoun¬ 
tered  a  new  and  positive  quality; — great  refresh¬ 
ment  for  both  of  us.  It  is  much,  that  he  does  not 
accept  the  conventional  opinions  and  practices. 
That  nonconformity  will  remain  a  goad  and  remem¬ 
brancer,  and  every  inquirer  will  have  to  dispose  of 
him,  in  the  first  place.  There  is  nothing  real  or 
useful  that  is  not  a  seat  of  war.  Our  houses  ring 
with  laughter,  and  personal  and  critical  gossip,  but 
it  helps  little.  But  the  uncivil,  unavailable  man, 
who  is  a  problem  and  a  threat  to  society,  whom  it 
cannot  let  pass  in  silence,  but  must  either  worship 
or  hate,  — and  to  whom  all  parties  feel  related,  both 
the  leaders  of  opinion,  and  the  obscure  and  eccen¬ 
tric,  —  he  helps  ;  he  puts  America  and  Europe  in 
the  wrong,  and  destroys  the  skepticism  which  says, 

‘ man  is  a  doll,  let  us  eat  and  drink,  ’tis  the  best 
we  can  do,’  by  illuminating  the  untried  and  un¬ 
known.  Acquiescence  in  the  establishment,  and 
appeal  to  the  public,  indicate  infirm  faith,  heads 
which  are  not  clear,  and  which  must  see  a  house 
built,  before  they  can  comprehend  the  plan  of  it. 
The  wise  man  not  only  leaves  out  of  his  thought 
the  many,  but  leaves  out  the  few.  Fountains,  the 

9# 


102 


ESSSAY  III. 


self-moved,  the  absorbed,  the  commander  because 
he  is  commanded,  the  assured,  the  primary,  they 
are  good j  for  these  announce  the  instant  presence 
of  supreme  power. 

Our  action  should  rest  mathematically  on  our 
substance.  In  nature,  there  are  no  false  valuations. 
A  pound  of  water  in  the  ocean-tempest  has  no 
more  gravity  than  in  a  midsummer  pond.  All 
things  work  exactly  according  to  their  quality,  and 
according  to  their  quantity ;  attempt  nothing  they 
cannot  do,  except  man  only.  He  has  pretension : 
he  wishes  and  attempts  things  beyond  his  force. 
I  read  in  a  book  of  English  memoirs,  “  Mr.  Fox 
(afterwards  Lord  Holland)  said,  he  must  have  the 
Treasury ;  he  had  served  up  to  it,  and  would  have 
it.”  —  Xenophon  and  his  Ten  Thousand  were 
quite  equal  to  what  they  attempted,  and  did  it ;  so 
equal,  that  it  was  not  suspected  to  be  a  grand  and 
inimitable  exploit.  Yet  there  stands  that  fact  un¬ 
repeated,  a  high-water-mark  in  military  history. 
Many  have  attempted  it  since,  and  not  been  equal 
to  it.  It  is  only  on  reality,  that  any  power  of 
action  can  be  based.  No  institution  will  be  better 
than  the  institutor.  I  knew  an  amiable  and  accom¬ 
plished  person  who  undertook  a  practical  reform, 
yet  I  was  never  able  to  find  in  him  the  enterprise 
of  love  he  took  in  hand.  He  adopted  it  by  ear 
and  by  the  understanding  from  the  books  he  had 


CHARACTER. 


103 

been  reading.  All  his  action  was  tentative,  a  piece 
of  the  city  carried  out  into  the  fields,  and  was  the 
city  still,  and  no  new  fact,  and  could  not  inspire 
enthusiasm.  Had  there  been  something  latent  in 
the  man,  a  terrible  undemonstrated  genius  agitat¬ 
ing  and  embarrassing  his  demeanor,  we  had 
watched  for  its  advent.  It  is  not  enough  that  the 
intellect  should  see  the  evils,  and  their  remedy. 
We  shall  still  postpone  our  existence,  nor  take  the 
ground  to  which  we  are  entitled,  whilst  it  is  only 
a  thought,  and  not  a  spirit  that  incites  us.  We 
have  not  yet  served  up  to  it. 

These  are  properties  of  life,  and  another  trait  is 
the  notice  of  incessant  growth.  Men  should  be 
intelligent  and  earnest.  They  must  also  make  us 
feel,  that  they  have  a  controlling  happy  future, 
opening  before  them,  whose  early  twilights  already 
kindle  in  the  passing  hour.  The  hero  is  miscon¬ 
ceived  and  misreported  :  he  cannot  therefore  wait  to 
unravel  any  man’s  blunders :  he  is  again  on  his  road, 
adding  new  powers  and  honors  to  his  domain,  and 
new  claims  on  your  heart,  which  will  bankrupt 
you,  if  you  have  loitered  about  the  old  things, 
and  have  not  kept  your  relation  to  him,  by  adding 
to  your  wealth.  New  actions  are  the  only  apol¬ 
ogies  and  explanations  of  old  ones,  which  the  noble 
can  bear  to  offer  or  to  receive.  If  your  friend  has 
displeased  you,  you  shall  not  sit  down  to  consider 


104 


ESSAY  III. 


it,  for  he  has  already  lost  all  memory  of  the  pas¬ 
sage,  and  has  doubled  his  power  to  serve  you,  and, 
ere  you  can  rise  up  again,  will  burden  you  with 
blessings. 

We  have  no  pleasure  in  thinking  of  a  benevo¬ 
lence  that  is  only  measured  by  its  works.  Love  is 
inexhaustible,  and  if  its  estate  is  wasted,  its  gran¬ 
ary  emptied,  still  cheers  and  enriches,  and  the  man, 
though  he  sleep,  seems  to  purify  the  air,  and  his 
house  to  adorn  the  landscape  and  strengthen  the 
laws.  People  always  recognize  this  difference. 
We  know  who  is  benevolent,  by  quite  other 
means  than  the  amount  of  subscription  to  soup- 
societies.  It  is  only  low  merits  that  can  be  enu¬ 
merated.  Fear,  when  your  friends  say  to  you  what 
you  have  done  well,  and  say  it  through ;  but  when 
they  stand  with  uncertain  timid  looks  of  respect 
and  half-dislike,  and  must  suspend  their  judgment 
for  years  to  come,  you  may  begin  to  hope.  Those 
who  live  to  the  future  must  always  appear  selfish 
to  those  who  live  to  the  present.  Therefore  it  was 
droll  in  the  good  Riemer,  who  has  written  memoirs 
of  Goethe,  to  make  out  a  list  of  his  donations  and 
good  deeds,  as,  so  many  hundred  thalers  given  to 
Stilling,  to  Hegel,  to  Tischbein  :  a  lucrative  place 
found  for  Professor  Voss,  a  post  under  the  Grand 
Duke  for  Herder,  a  pension  for  Meyer,  two  profes¬ 
sors  recommended  to  foreign  universities,  &c.,  &c. 


CHARACTER. 


105 


The  longest  list  of  specifications  of  benefit,  would 
look  very  short.  A  man  is  a  poor  creature,  if  he  is 
to  be  measured  so.  For,  all  these,  of  course,  are 
exceptions  ;  and  the  rule  and  hodiernal  life  of  a 
good  man  is  benefaction.  The  true  charity  of 
Goethe  is  to  be  inferred  from  the  account  he  gave 
Dr.  Eckermann,  of  the  way  in  which  he  had  spent 
his  fortune.  “  Each  bon-mot  of  mine  has  cost  a 
purse  of  gold.  Half  a  million  of  my  own  money, 
the  fortune  I  inherited,  my  salary,  and  the  large 
income  derived  from  my  writings  for  fifty  years 
back,  have  been  expended  to  instruct  me  in  what 
I  now  know.  I  have  besides  seen,”  &c. 

I  own  it  is  but  poor  chat  and  gossip  to  go  to 
enumerate  traits  of  this  simple  and  rapid  power, 
and  we  are  painting  the  lightning  with  charcoal ; 
but  in  these  long  nights  and  vacations,  I  like  to 
console  myself  so.  Nothing  but  itself  can  copy  it. 
A  word  warm  from  the  heart  enriches  me.  I  sur¬ 
render  at  discretion.  How  death-cold  is  literary 
genius  before  this  fire  of  life !  These  are  the 
touches  that  reanimate  my  heavy  soul,  and  give  it 
eyes  to  pierce  the  dark  of  nature.  I  find,  where 
I  thought  myself  poor,  there  was  I  most  rich. 
Thence  comes  a  new  intellectual  exaltation,  to  be 
again  rebuked  by  some  new  exhibition  of  charac¬ 
ter.  Strange  alternation  of  attraction  and  repul¬ 
sion  !  Character  repudiates  intellect,  yet  excites 


106 


ESSAY  III. 


it ;  and  character  passes  into  thought,  is  published 
so,  and  then  is  ashamed  before  new  flashes  of  morai 
worth. 

Character  is  nature  in  the  highest  form.  It  is 
of  no  use  to  ape  it,  or  to  contend  with  it.  Some¬ 
what  is  possible  of  resistance,  and  of  persistence, 
and  of  creation,  to  this  power,  which  will  foil  all 
emulation. 

This  masterpiece  is  best  where  no  hands  but 
nature’s  have  been  laid  on  it.  Care  is  taken  that 
the  greatly-destined  shall  slip  up  into  life  in  the 
shade,  with  no  thousand-eyed  Athens  to  watch 
and  blazon  every  new  thought,  every  blushing 
emotion  of  young  genius.  Two  persons  lately,  — 
very  young  children  of  the  most  high  God,  —  have 
given  me  occasion  for  thought.  When  I  explored 
the  source  of  their  sanctity,  and  charm  for  the 
imagination,  it  seemed  as  if  each  answered,  ‘From 
my  nonconformity  :  I  never  listened  to  your  peo¬ 
ple’s  law,  or  to  what  they  call  their  gospel,  and 
wasted  my  time.  I  was  content  with  the  simple 
rural  poverty  of  my  own :  hence  this  sweetness : 
my  work  never  reminds  you  of  that;  —  is  pure  of 
that.’  And  nature  advertises  me  in  such  persons, 
that,  in  democratic  America,  she  will  not  be 
democratized.  How  cloistered  and  constitution¬ 
ally  sequestered  from  the  market  and  from  scan¬ 
dal  !  It  was  only  this  morning,  that  I  sent  away 


CHARACTER. 


107 


some  wild  flowers  of  these  wood-gods.  They  are 
a  relief  from  literature,  —  these  fresh  draughts  from 
the  sources  of  thought  and  sentiment  ;  as  we  read, 
in  an  age  of  polish  and  criticism,  the  first  lines  of 
written  prose  and  verse  of  a  nation.  How  capti¬ 
vating  is  their  devotion  to  their  favorite  books, 
whether  flEschylus,  Dante,  Shakspeare,  or  Scott, 
as  feeling  that  they  have  a  stake  in  that  book  : 
who  touches  that,  touches  them  ;  —  and  especially 
the  total  solitude  of  the  critic,  the  Patmos  of  thought 
from  which  he  writes,  in  unconsciousness  of  any 
eyes  that  shall  ever  read  this  writing.  Could  they 
dream  on  still,  as  angels,  and  not  wake  to  compar¬ 
isons,  and  to  be  flattered  !  Yet  some  natures  are 
too  good  to  be  spoiled  by  praise,  and  wherever  the 
vein  of  thought  reaches  down  into  the  profound, 
there  is  no  danger  from  vanity.  Solemn  friends 
will  warn  them  of  the  danger  of  the  head’s  being 
turned  by  the  flourish  of  trumpets,  but  they  can 
afford  to  smile.  I  remember  the  indignation  of  an 
eloquent  Methodist  at  the  kind  admonitions  of  a 
Doctor  of  Divinity,  — 1  My  friend,  a  man  can  nei¬ 
ther  be  praised  nor  insulted.’  But  forgive  the 
counsels  ;  they  are  very  natural.  I  remember  the 
thought  which  occurred  to  me  when  some  ingen¬ 
ious  and  spiritual  foreigners  -came  to  America,  was. 
Have  you  been  victimized  in  being  brought  hither? 
—  or,  prior  to  that,  answer  me  this,  1  Are  you  vic- 
timizable  ?  ’ 


108 


ESSAY  III. 


As  I  have  said,  nature  keeps  these  sovereignties 
in  her  own  hands,  and  however  pertly  our  sermons 
and  disciplines  would  divide  some  share  of  credit, 
and  teach  that  the  laws  fashion  the  citizen,  she 
goes  her  own  gait,  and  puts  the  wisest  in  the 
wrong.  She  makes  very  light  of  gospels  and 
prophets,  as  one  who  has  a  great  many  more  to  pro¬ 
duce,  and  no  excess  of  time  to  spare  on  any  one. 
There  is  a  class  of  men,  individuals  of  which  ap¬ 
pear  at  long  intervals,  so  eminently  endowed  with 
insight  and  virtue,  that  they  have  been  unanimous¬ 
ly  saluted  as  divine ,  and  who  seem  to  be  an  accu¬ 
mulation  of  that  power  we  consider.  Divine  persons 
are  character  born,  or,  to  borrow  a  phrase  from 
Napoleon,  they  are  victory  organized.  They  are 
usually  received  with  ill-will,  because  they  are  new, 
and  because  they  set  a  bound  to  the  exaggeration 
that  has  been  made  of  the  personality  of  the  last 
divine  person.  Nature  never  rhymes  her  children, 
nor  makes  two  men  alike.  When  we  see  a  great 
man,  we  fancy  a  resemblance  to  some  historical 
person,  and  predict  the  sequel  of  his  character  and 
fortune,  a  result  which  he  is  sure  to  disappoint. 
None  will  ever  solve  the  problem  of  his  character 
according  to  our  prejudice,  but  only  in  his  own 
high  unprecedented  way.  Character  wants  room  ; 
must  not  be  crowded  on  by  persons,  nor  be  judged 
frhm  glimpses  got  in  the  press  of  affairs  or  on  few 


CHARACTER. 


109 


occasions.  It  needs  perspective,  as  a  great  building. 
It  may  not,  probably  does  not,  form  relations  rapid¬ 
ly  ;  and  we  should  not  require  rash  explanation, 
either  on  the  popular  ethics,  or  on  our  own,  of  its 
action. 

I  look  on  Sculpture  as  history.  I  do  not  think 
the  Apollo  and  the  Jove  impossible  in  flesh  and 
blood.  Every  trait  which  the  artist  recorded  in 
stone,  he  had  seen  in  life,  and  better  than  his  copy. 
We  have  seen  many  counterfeits,  but  we  are  born 
believers  in  great  men.  How  easily  we  read  in 
old  books,  when  men  were  few,  of  the  smallest 
action  of  the  patriarchs.  We  require  that  a  man 
should  be  so  large  and  columnar  in  the  landscape, 
that  it  should  deserve  to  be  recorded,  that  he  arose, 
and  girded  up  his  loins,  and  departed  to  such  a 
place.  The  most  credible  pictures  are  those  of 
majestic  men  who  prevailed  at  their  entrance,  and 
convinced  the  senses ;  as  happened  to  the  eastern 
magian  who  was  sent  to  test  the  merits  of  Zer- 
tusht  or  Zoroaster.  When  the  Yunani  sage  arrived 
at  Balkh,  the  Persians  tell  us,  Gushtasp  appointed 
a  day  on  which  the  Mobeds  of  every  country 
should  assemble,  and  a  golden  chair  was  placed  for 
the  Yunani  sage.  Then  the  beloved  of  Yezdam, 
the  prophet  Zertusht,  advanced  into  the  midst  of 
the  assembly.  The  Yunani  sage,  on  seeing  that 
chief,  said,  “  This  form  and  this  gait  cannot  lie,  and 

10 


110 


ESSAY  III. 


nothing  but  truth  can  proceed  from  them.”  Plato 
said,  it  was  impossible  not  to  believe  in  the  children 
of  the  gods,  “  though  they  should  speak  without 
probable  or  necessary  arguments.”  I  should  think 
myself  very  unhappy  in  my  associates,  if  I  could 
not  credit  the  best  things  in  history.  “  John  Brad¬ 
shaw,”  says  Milton,  “  appears  like  a  consul,  from 
whom  the  fasces  are  not  to  depart  with  the  year  ; 
so  that  not  on  the  tribunal  only,  but  throughout  his 
life,  you  would  regard  him  as  sitting  in  judgment 
upon  kings.  ”  I  find  it  more  creditable,  since  it  is 
anterior  information,  that  one  man  should  know 
heaven ,  as  the  Chinese  say,  than  that  so  many  men 
should  know  the  world.  “  The  virtuous  prince 
confronts  the  gods,  without  any  misgiving.  He 
waits  a  hundred  ages  till  a  sage  comes,  and  does 
not  doubt.  He  who  confronts  the  gods,  without 
any  misgiving,  knows  heaven  ;  he  who  waits  a  hun¬ 
dred  ages  until  a  sage  comes,  without  doubting, 
knows  men.  Hence  the  virtuous  prince  moves, 
and  for  ages  shows  empire  the  way.”  But  there  is 
no  need  to  seek  remote  examples.  He  is  a  dull 
observer  whose  experience  has  not  taught  him  the 
reality  and  force  of  magic,  as  well  as  of  chemistry. 
The  coldest  precisian  cannot  go  abroad  without 
encountering  inexplicable  influences.  One  man 
fastens  an  eye  on  him,  and  the  graves  of  the  mem¬ 
ory  render  up  their  dead ;  the  secrets  that  make 


CHARACTER. 


Ill 

him  wretched  either  to  keep  or  to  betray,  must  be 
yielded ;  —  another,  and  he  cannot  speak,  and  the 
bones  of  his  body  seem  to  lose  their  cartilages  ;  the 
entrance  of  a  friend  adds  grace,  boldness,  and  elo¬ 
quence  to  him  ;  and  there  are  persons,  he  cannot 
choose  but  remember,  who  gave  a  transcendent 
expansion  to  his  thought,  and  kindled  another  life 
in  his  bosom. 

What  is  so  excellent  as  strict  relations  of  amity, 
when  they  spring  from  this  deep  root?  The  suf¬ 
ficient  reply  to  the  skeptic,  who  doubts  the  power 
and  the  furniture  of  man,  is  in  that  possibility  of 
joyful  intercourse  with  persons,  which  makes  the 
faith  and  practice  of  all  reasonable  men.  I  know 
nothing  which  life  has  to  offer  so  satisfying  as  the 
profound  good  understanding,  which  can  subsist, 
after  much  exchange  of  good  offices,  between  two 
virtuous  men,  each  of  whom  is  sure  of  himself,  and 
sure  of  his  friend.  It  is  a  happiness  which  post¬ 
pones  all  other  gratifications,  and  makes  politics, 
and  commerce,  and  churches,  cheap.  For,  when 
men  shall  meet  as  they  ought,  each  a  benefactor,  a 
shower  of  stars,  clothed  with  thoughts,  with  deeds, 
with  accomplishments,  it  should  be  the  festival  of 
nature  which  all  things  announce.  Of  such  friend¬ 
ship,  love  in  the  sexes  is  the  first  symbol,  as  all 
other  things  are  symbols  of  love.  Those  relations 
to  the  best  men,  which,  at  one  time,  we  reckoned 


112 


ESSAY  III. 


the  romances  of  youth,  oecome,  in  the  progress  of 
the  character,  the  most  solid  enjoyment. 

If  it  were  possible  to  live  in  right  relations  with 
men  !  —  if  we  could  abstain  from  asking  anything 
of  them,  from  asking  their  praise,  or  help,  or  pity, 
and  content  us  with  compelling  them  through  the 
virtue  of  the  eldest  laws !  Could  we  not  deal  with 
a  few  persons, — with  one  person,  —  after  the  un¬ 
written  statutes,  and  make  an  experiment  of  their 
efficacy?  Could  we  not  pay  our  friend  the  com¬ 
pliment  of  truth,  of  silence,  of  forbearing?  Need 
we  be  so  eager  to  seek  him  ?  If  we  are  related, 
we  shall  meet.  It  was  a  tradition  of  the  ancient 
world,  that  no  metamorphosis  could  hide  a  god 
from  a  god ;  and  there  is  a  Greek  verse  which 
runs, 

“The  Gods  are  to  each  other  not  unknown.” 

Friends  also  follow  the  laws  of  divine  necessity ; 
they  gravitate  to  each  other,  and  cannot  other¬ 
wise  :  — 

When  each  the  other  shall  avoid, 

Shall  each  by  each  be  most  enjoyed. 

Their  relation  is  not  made,  but  allowed.  The 
gods  must  seat  themselves  without  seneschal  in 
our  Olympus,  and  as  they  can  instal  themselves  by 
seniority  divine.  Society  is  spoiled,  if  pains  are 
taken,  if  the  associates  are  brought  a  mile  to  meet. 


CHARACTER. 


113 


And  if  it  be  not  society,  it  is  a  mischievous,  low, 
degrading  jangle,  though  made  up  of  the  best.  All 
the  greatness  of  each  is  kept  back,  and  every  foible 
in  painful  activity,  as  if  the  Olympians  should  meet 
to  exchange  snuff-boxes. 

Life  goes  headlong.  We  chase  some  flying 
scheme,  or  we  are  hunted  by  some  fear  or  com¬ 
mand  behind  us.  But  if  suddenly  we  encounter  a 
friend,  we  pause ;  our  heat  and  hurry  look  foolish 
enough  ;  now  pause,  now  possession,  is  required,  and 
the  power  to  swell  the  moment  from  the  resources 
of  the  heart.  The  moment  is  all,  in  all  noble  re¬ 
lations. 

A  divine  person  is  the  prophecy  of  the  mind ;  a 
friend  is  the  hope  of  the  heart.  Our  beatitude 
waits  for  the  fulfilment  of  these  two  in  one.  The 
ages  are  opening  this  moral  force.  All  force  is  the 
shadow  or  symbol  of  that.  Poetry  is  joyful  and 
strong,  as  it  draws  its  inspiration  thence.  Men 
write  their  names  on  the  world,  as  they  are  filled 
with  this.  History  has  been  mean  ;  our  nations 
have  been  mobs  ;  we  have  never  seen  a  man :  that 
divine  form  we  do  not  yet  know,  but  only  the 
dream  and  prophecy  of  such :  we  do  not  know  the 
majestic  manners  which  belong  to  him,  which  ap¬ 
pease  and  exalt  the  beholder.  We  shall  one  day 
see  that  the  most  private  is  the  most  public  ener¬ 
gy,  that  quality  atones  for  quantity,  and  grandeur 

10* 


114 


ESSAY  III. 


of  character  acts  in  the  dark,  and  succors  them 
who  never  saw  it.  What  greatness  has  yet  ap¬ 
peared,  is  beginnings  and  encouragements  to  us  in 
this  direction.  The  history  of  those  gods  and 
saints  which  the  world  has  written,  and  then  wor¬ 
shipped,  are  documents  of  character.  The  ages 
have  exulted  in  the  manners  of  a  youth  who  owed 
nothing  to  fortune,  and  who  was  hanged  at  the 
Tyburn  of  his  nation,  who,  by  the  pure  quality  of 
his  nature,  shed  an  epic  splendor  around  the  facts  of 
his  death,  which  has  transfigured  every  particular 
into  an  universal  symbol  for  the  eyes  of  mankind. 
This  great  defeat  is  hitherto  our  highest  fact.  But 
the  mind  requires  a  victory  to  the  senses,  a  force  of 
character  which  will  convert  judge,  jury,  soldier, 
and  king  ;  which  will  rule  animal  and  mineral 
virtues,  and  blend  with  the  courses  of  sap,  of  riv¬ 
ers,  of  winds,  of  stars,  and  of  moral  agents. 

If  we  cannot  attain  at  a  bound  to  these  gran¬ 
deurs,  at  least,  let  us  do  them  homage.  In  society, 
high  advantages  are  set  down  to  the  possessor,  as 
disadvantages.  It  requires  the  more  wariness  in 
our  private  estimates.  I  do  not  forgive  in  my 
friends  the  failure  to  know  a  fine  character,  and  to 
entertain  it  with  thankful  hospitality.  When,  at 
last,  that  which  we  have  always  longed  for,  is  ar¬ 
rived,  and  shines  on  us  with  glad  rays  out  of  that 
far  celestial  land,  then  to  be  coarse,  then  to  be  crit- 


CHARACTER. 


115 


ical,  and  treat  such  a  visitant  with  the  jabber  and 
suspicion  of  the  streets,  argues  a  vulgarity  that 
seems  to  shut  the  doors  of  heaven.  This  is  con¬ 
fusion,  this  the  right  insanity,  when  the  soul  no 
longer  knows  its  own,  nor  where  its  allegiance,  its 
religion,  are  due.  Is  there  any  religion  but  this,  to 
know,  that,  wherever  in  the  wide  desert  of  being, 
tl^e  holy  sentiment  we  cherish  has  opened  into  a 
flower,  it  blooms  for  me  ?  if  none  sees  it,  I  see  it  ; 
1  am  aware,  if  I  alone,  of  the  greatness  of  the  fact. 
Whilst  it  blooms,  I  will  keep  sabbath  or  holy  time, 
and  suspend  my  gloom,  and  my  folly  and  jokes. 
Nature  is  indulged  by  the  presence  of  this  guest. 
There  are  many  eyes  that  can  detect  and  honor  the 
prudent  and  household  virtues ;  there  are  many 
that  can  discern  Genius  on  his  starry  track,  though 
the  mob  is  incapable  ;  but  when  that  love  which 
is  all-suffering,  all-abstaining,  all-aspiring,  which 
has  vowed  to  itself,  that  it  will  be  a  wretch  and 
also  a  fool  in  this  world,  sooner  than  soil  its  white 
hands  by  any  compliances,  comes  into  our  streets 
and  houses,  —  only  the  pure  and  aspiring  can  know 
its  face,  and  the  only  compliment  they  can  pay  it, 
is  to  own  it. 


A 


'  * 


, 


.'M 


•  v 


*■ 


' 


. 

. 


- 


. 


■ 


. 


4  # 


MANNERS 


*  Mow  near  to  good  is  what  is  fair  ! 
Which  we  no  sooner  see, 

But  with  the  lines  and  outward  au 
Our  senses  taken  be. 

Again  yourselves  compose, 

And  now  put  all  the  aptness  on 
Of  Figure,  that  Proportion 
Or  Color  can  disclose  ; 

That  if  those  silent  arts  were  lost, 
Design  and  Picture,  they  might  boast 
From  you  a  newer  ground, 
Instructed  by  the  heightening  sense 
Of  dignity  and  reverence 
In  their  true  motions  found.” 


Ben  Jo  ns  on 


ESSAY  17. 


MANNERS. 


Half  the  world,  it  is  said,  knows  not  how  the 
other  half  live.  Oar  Exploring  Expedition  saw  fhe 
Feejee  islanders  getting  their  dinner  off  human 
bones ;  and  they  are  said  to  eat  their  own  wives 
and  children.  The  husbandry  of  the  modern  in¬ 
habitants  of  Gournou  (west  of  old  Thebes)  is  philo¬ 
sophical  to  a  fault.  To  set  up  their  housekeeping, 
nothing  is  requisite  but  two  or  three  earthen  pots,  a 
stone  to  grind  meal,  and  a  mat  which  is  the  bed. 
The  house,  namely,  a  tomb,  is  ready  without  rent 
or  taxes.  No  rain  can  pass  through  the  roof,  and 
there  is  no  door,  for  there  is  no  want  of  one,  as 
there  is  nothing  to  lose.  If  the  house  do  not  please 
them,  they  walk  out  and  enter  another,  as  there  are 
several  hundreds  at  their  command.  “  It  is  some¬ 
what  singular,”  adds  Belzoni,  to  whom  we  owe  this 
account,  “  to  talk  of  happiness  among  people  who 
live  in  sepulchres,  among  the  corpses  and  rags  of  an 


120 


ESSAY  IV. 


ancient  nation  which  they  know  nothing  cf.”  In 
the  deserts  of  Borgoo,  the  rock-Tibboos  still  dwell 
in  caves,  like  cliff-swallows,  and  the  language  of 
these  negroes  is  compared  by  their  neighbors  to  the 
shrieking  of  bats,  and  to  the  whistling  of  birds. 
Again,  the  Bornoos  have  no  proper  names ;  indi¬ 
viduals  are  called  after  their  height,  thickness,  or 
other  accidental  quality,  and  have  nicknames 
merely.  But  the  salt,  the  dates,  the  ivory,  and  the 
gold,  for  which  these  horrible  regions  are  visited, 
find  their  way  into  countries,  where  the  purchaser 
and  consumer  can  hardly  be  ranked  in  one  race 
with  these  cannibals  and  man-stealers  ;  countries 
where  man  serves  himself  with  metals,  wood,  stone, 
glass,  gum,  cotton,  silk,  and  wool ;  honors  himself 
with  architecture ;  writes  laws,  and  contrives  to 
execute  his  will  through  the  hands  of  many  na- 
tions ;  and,  especially,  establishes  a  select  society, 
running  through  all  the  countries  of  intelligent 
men,  a  self-constituted  aristocracy,  or  fraternity  of 
the  best,  which,  without  written  law  or  exact  usage 
of  any  kind,  perpetuates  itself,  colonizes  every  new- 
planted  island,  and  adopts  and  makes  its  own  what¬ 
ever  personal  beauty  or  extraordinary  native  endow¬ 
ment  any  where  appears. 

What  fact  more  conspicuous  in  modern  history, 
than  the  creation  of  tile  gentleman  ?  Chivalry  is 
that,  and  loyalty  is  that,  and,  in  English  literature, 


MANNERS. 


121 


half  the  drama,  and  all  the  novels,  from  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  paint  this  figure.  The 
word  gentleman,  which,  like  the  word  Christian, 
must  hereafter  characterize  the  present  and  the  few 
preceding  centuries,  by  the  importance  attached  to 
it,  is  a  homage  to  personal  and  incommunicable 
properties.  Frivolous  and  fantastic  additions  have 
got  associated  with  the  name,  but  the  steady  inter¬ 
est  of  mankind  in  it  must  be  attributed  to  the  valu¬ 
able  properties  which  it  designates.  An  element 
which  unites  all  the  most  forcible  persons  of  every 
country  ;  makes  them  intelligible  and  agreeable  to 
each  other,  and  is  somewhat  so  precise,  that  it  is  at 
once  felt  if  an  individual  lack  the  masonic  sign, 
cannot  be  any  casual  product,  but  must  be  an 
average  result  of  the  character  and  faculties  univer¬ 
sally  found  in  men.  It  seems  a  certain  permanent 
average  ;  as  the  atmosphere  is  a  permanent  compo¬ 
sition,  whilst  so  many  gases  are  combined  only  to  be 
decompounded.  Comme  ilfaut,  is  the  Frenchman’s 
description  of  good  society,  as  we  must  be.  It  is  a 
spontaneous  fruit  of  talents  and  feelings  of  precisely 
that  class  who  have  most  vigor,  who  take  the  lead 
in  the  world  of  this  hour,  and,  though  far  from  pure, 
far  from  constituting  the  gladdest  and  highest  tone 
of  human  feeling,  is  as  good  as  the  whole  society 
permits  it  to  be.  It  is  made  of  the  spirit,  more  than 
of  the  talent  of  men,  and  is  a  compound  result,  into 

11 


122 


ESSAY  IV. 


which  every  great  force  enters  as  an  ingredient, 
namely,  virtue,  wit,  beauty,  wealth,  and  power. 

There  is  something  equivocal  in  all  the  words  in 
use  to  express  the  excellence  of  manners  and  social 
cultivation,  because  the  quantities  are  fluxional,  and 
the  last  effect  is  assumed  by  the  senses  as  the  cause. 
The  word  gentleman  has  not  any  correlative  ab¬ 
stract  to  express  the  quality.  Gentility  is  mean, 
and  gentilesse  is  obsolete.  But  we  must  keep  alive 
in  the  vernacular,  the  distinction  between  fashion , 
a  word  of  narrow  and  often  sinister  meaning,  and 
the  heroic  character  which  the  gentleman  imports. 
The  usual  words,  however,  must  be  respected :  they 
will  be  found  to  contain  the  root  of  the  matter. 
The  point  of  distinction  in  all  this  class  of  names, 
as  courtesy,  chivalry,  fashion,  and  the  like,  is,  that 
the  flower  and  fruit,  not  the  grain  of  the  tree,  are 
contemplated.  It  is  beauty  which  is  the  aim  this 
time,  and  not  worth.  The  result  is  now  in  ques¬ 
tion,  although  our  words  intimate  well  enough  the 
popular  feeling,  that  the  appearance  supposes  a  sub¬ 
stance.  The  gentleman  is  a  man  of  truth,  lord  of 
his  own  actions,  and  expressing  that  lordship  in  his 
behavior,  not  in  any  manner  dependent  and  ser¬ 
vile  either  on  persons,  or  opinions,  or  possessions. 
Beyond  this  fact  of  truth  and  real  force,  the  word 
denotes  good-nature  or  benevolence  :  manhood  first, 
and  then  gentleness.  The  popular  notion  certainly 


MANNERS. 


123 


adds  a  condition  of  ease  and  fortune  ;  but  that  is  a 
natural  result  of  personal  force  and  love,  that  they 
should  possess  and  dispense  the  goods  of  the  world. 
In  times  of  violence,  every  eminent  person  must 
fall  in  with  many  opportunities  to  approve  his  stout¬ 
ness  and  worth  ;  therefore  every  man’s  name  that 
emerged  at  all  from  the  mass  in  the  feudal  ages, 
rattles  in  our  ear  like  a  flourish  of  trumpets.  But 
personal  force  never  goes  out  of  fashion.  That  is 
still  paramount  to-day,  and,  in  the  moving  crowd  of 
good  society,  the  men  of  valor  and  reality  are 
known,  and  rise  to  their  natural  place.  The  comn 
petition  is  transferred  from  war  to  politics  and 
trade,  but  the  personal  force  appears  readily  enough 
in  these  new  arenas. 

Power  first,  or  no  leading  class.  In  politics  and 
in  trade,  bruisers  and  pirates  are  of  better  promise 
than  talkers  and  clerks.  God  knows  that  all  sorts 
of  gentlemen  knock  at  the  door  ;  but  whenever 
used  in  strictness,  and  with  any  emphasis,  the 
name  will  be  found  to  point  at  original  energy.  It 
describes  a  man  standing  in  his  own  right,  and 
working  after  untaught  methods.  In  a  good  lord, 
there  must  first  be  a  good  animal,  at  least  to  the 
extent  of  yielding  the  incomparable  advantage  of 
animal  spirits.  The  ruling  class  must  have  more, 
but  they  must  have  these,  giving  in  every  company 
the  sense  of  power,  which  makes  things  easy  to  be 


124 


ESSAY  IV. 


done  which  daunt  the  wise.  The  society  of  the 
energetic  class,  in  their  friendly  and  festive  meet¬ 
ings,  is  full  of  courage,  and  of  attempts,  which  in¬ 
timidate  the  pale  scholar.  The  courage  which 
girls  exhibit  is  like  a  battle  of  Lundy’s  Lane,  or  a 
sea-fight.  The  intellect  relies  on  memory  to  make 
some  supplies  to  face  these  extemporaneous  squad¬ 
rons.  But  memory  is  a  base  mendicant  with 
basket  and  badge,  in  the  presence  of  these  sudden 
masters.  The  rulers  of  society  must  be  up  to  the 
work  of  the  world,  and  equal  to  their  versatile 
office  :  men  of  the  right  Caesarian  pattern,  who 
have  great  range  of  affinity.  I  am  far  from  be¬ 
lieving  the  timid  maxim  of  Lord  Falkland,  (“that 
for  ceremony  there  must  go  two  to  it ;  since  a  bold 
fellow  will  go  through  the  cunningest  forms,”)  and 
am  of  opinion  that  the  gentleman  is  the  bold  fel¬ 
low  whose  forms  are  not  to  he  broken  through  ; 
and  only  that  plenteous  nature  is  rightful  master, 
which  is  the  complement  of  whatever  person  it  con¬ 
verses  with.  My  gentleman  gives  the  law  where 
he  is ;  he  will  outpray  saints  in  chapel,  outgeneral 
veterans  in  the  field,  and  outshine  all  courtesy  in  the 
hall.  He  is  good  company  for  pirates,  and  good  with 
academicians ;  so  that  it  is  useless  to  fortify  your¬ 
self  against  him  ;  he  has  the  private  entrance  to  all 
minds,  and  I  could  as  easily  exclude  myself,  as  him. 
The  famous  gentlemen  of  Asia  and  Europe  have 


MANNERS. 


125 


been  of  this  strong  type  :  Saladin,  Sapor,  the  Cid, 
Julius  Caesar,  Scipio,  Alexander,  Pericles,  and  the 
lordliest  personages.  They  sat  very  carelessly  in 
their  chairs,  and  were  too  excellent  themselves,  to 
value  any  condition  at  a  high  rate. 

A  plentiful  fortune  is  reckoned  necessary,  in  the 
popular  judgment,  to  the  completion  of  this  man  of 
the  world  :  and  it  is  a  material  deputy  which  walks 
through  the  dance  which  the  first  has  led.  Money 
is  not  essential,  but  this  wide  affinity  is,  which 
transcends  the  habits  of  clique  and  caste,  and 
makes  itself  felt  by  men  of  all  classes.  If  the  aris¬ 
tocrat  is  only  valid  in  fashionable  circles,  and  not 
with  truckmen,  he  will  never  be  a  leader  in  fash¬ 
ion  ;  and  if  the  man  of  the  people  cannot  speak  on 
equal  terms  with  the  gentleman,  so  that  the  gentle¬ 
man  shall  perceive  that  he  is  already  really  of  his 
own  order,  he  is  not  to  be  feared.  Diogenes,  Soc¬ 
rates,  and  Epaminondas,  are  gentlemen  of  the  best 
blood,  who  have  chosen  the  condition  of  poverty, 
when  that  of  wealth  was  equally  open  to  them. 
I  use  these  old  names,  but  the  men  I  speak  of 
are  my  contemporaries.  Fortune  will  not  supply 
to  every  generation  one  of  these  well-appointed 
knights,  but  every  collection  of  men  furnishes 
some  example  of  the  class  :  and  the  politics  of  this 
country,  and  the  trade  of  every  town,  are  controlled 
by  these  hardy  and  irresponsible  doers,  who  have 
11* 


126 


ESSAY  IV. 


invention  to  take  the  lead,  and  a  broad  sympathy 
which  puts  them  in  fellowship  with  crowds,  and 
makes  their  action  popular. 

The  manners  of  this  class  are  observed  and 
caught  with  devotion  by  men  of  taste.  The  asso¬ 
ciation  of  these  masters  with  each  other,  and  with 
men  intelligent  of  their  merits,  is  mutually  agreea¬ 
ble  and  stimulating.  The  good  forms,  the  happi¬ 
est  expressions  of  each,  are  repeated  and  adopted. 
By  swift  consent,  everything  superfluous  is  dropped, 
everything  graceful  is  renewed.  Fine  manners 
show  themselves  formidable  to  the  uncultivated 
man.  They  are  a  subtler  science  of  defence  to 
parry  and  intimidate ;  but  once  matched  by  the 
skill  of  the  other  party,  they  drop  the  point  of  the 
sword,  — points  and  fences  disappear,  and  the  youth 
finds  himself  in  a  more  transparent  atmosphere, 
wherein  life  is  a  less  troublesome  game,  and  not  a 
misunderstanding  rises  between  the  players.  Man¬ 
ners  aim  to  facilitate  life,  to  get  rid  of  impediments, 
and  bring  the  man  pure  to  energize.  They  aid 
our  dealing  and  conversation,  as  a  railway  aids 
travelling,  by  getting  rid  of  all  avoidable  obstruc¬ 
tions  of  the  road,  and  leaving  nothing  to  be  con¬ 
quered  but  pure  space.  These  forms  very  soon  be¬ 
come  fixed,  and  a  fine  sense  of  propriety  is  cultivat¬ 
ed  with  the  more  heed,  that  it  becomes  a  badge  of 
social  and  civil  distinctions.  Thus  grows  up  Fash- 


MANNERS. 


12? 


ion,  an  equivocal  semblance,  the  most  puissant,  the 
most  fantastic  and  frivolous,  the  most  feared  and 
followed,  and  which  morals  and  violence  assault  in 
vain. 

There  exists  a  strict  relation  between  the  class 
of  power,  and  the  exclusive  and  polished  circles. 
The  last  are  always  filled  or  filling  from  the  first. 
The  strong  men  usually  give  some  allowance  even 
to  the  petulances  of  fashion,  for  that  affinity  they 
find  in  it.  Napoleon,  child  of  the  revolution,  de¬ 
stroyer  of  the  old  noblesse,  never  ceased  to  court 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  :  doubtless  with  the  feel¬ 
ing,  that  fashion  is  a  homage  to  men  of  his  stamp. 
Fashion,  though  in  a  strange  way,  represents  all 
manly  virtue.  It  is  virtue  gone  to  seed:  it  is  a 
kind  of  posthumous  honor.  It  does  not  often  ca¬ 
ress  the  great,  but  the  children  of  the  great :  it  is  a 
hall  of  the  Past.  It  usually  sets  its  face  against 
the  great  of  this  hour.  Great  men  are  not  com¬ 
monly  in  its  halls :  they  are  absent  in  the  field  : 
they  are  working,  not  triumphing.  Fashion  is 
made  up  of  their  children;  of  those,  who,  through 
the  value  and  virtue  of  somebody,  have  acquired 
lustre  to  their  name,  marks  of  distinction,  means  of 
cultivation  and  generosity,  and,  in  their  physical 
organization,  a  certain  health  and  excellence,  which 
secures  to  them,  if  not  the  highest  power  to  work, 
yet  high  power  to  enjoy.  The  class  of  power,  the 


128 


ESSAY  IV. 


working  heroes,  the  Cortez,  the  Nelson,  the  Napo¬ 
leon,  see  that  this  is  the  festivity  and  permanent 
celebration  of  such  as  they j  that  fashion  is  funded 
talent  ;  is  Mexico,  Marengo,  and  Trafalgar  beaten 
out  thin  ;  that  the  brilliant  names  of  fashion  run 
back  to  just  such  busy  names  as  their  own,  fifty  or 
sixty  years  ago.  They  are  the  sowers,  their  sons 
shall  be  the  reapers,  and  their  sons,  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  things,  must  yield  the  possession  of  the 
harvest  to  new  competitors  with  keener  eyes  and 
stronger  frames.  The  city  is  recruited  from  the 
country.  In  the  year  1805,  it  is  said,  every  legiti¬ 
mate  monarch  in  Europe  was  imbecile.  The  city 
would  have  died  out,  rotted,  and  exploded,  long  ago, 
but  that  it  was  reinforced  from  the  fields.  It  is 
only  country  which  came  to  town  day  before  yes¬ 
terday,  that  is  city  and  court  to-day. 

Aristocracy  and  fashion  are  certain  inevitable  re¬ 
sults.  These  mutual  selections  are  indestructible. 
If  they  provoke  anger  in  the  least  favored  class, 
and  the  excluded  majority  revenge  themselves  on 
the  excluding  minority,  by  the  strong  hand,  and 
kill  them,  at  once  a  new  class  finds  itself  at  the  top, 
as  certainly  as  cream  rises  in  a  bowl  of  milk:  and 
if  the  people  should  destroy  class  after  class,  until 
two  men  only  were  left,  one  of  these  would  be  the 
leader,  and  would  be  involuntarily  served  and  cop¬ 
ied  by  the  other.  You  may  keep  this  minority 


MANNERS. 


129 


out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind,  but  it  is  tenacious 
of  life,  and  is  one  of  the  estates  of  the  realm.  I 
am  the  more  struck  with  this  tenacity,  when  I  see 
its  work.  It  respects  the  administration  of  such 
unimportant  matters,  that  we  should  not  look  for 
any  durability  in  its  rule.  We  sometimes  meet 
men  under  some  strong  moral  influence,  as,  a  patri¬ 
otic,  a  literary,  a  religious  movement,  and  feel  that 
the  moral  sentiment  rules  man  and  nature.  We 
think  all  other  distinctions  and  ties  will  be  slight 
and  fugitive,  this  of  caste  or  fashion,  for  example  ; 
yet  come  from  year  to  year,  and  see  how  perma¬ 
nent  that  is,  in  this  Boston  or  New  York  life  of 
man,  where,  too,  it  has  not  the  least  countenance 
from  the  law  of  the  land.  Not  in  Egypt  or  in  In¬ 
dia  a  firmer  or  more  impassable  line.  Here  are  as¬ 
sociations  whose  ties  go  over,  and  under,  and 
through  it,  a  meeting  of  merchants,  a  military 
corps,  a  college  class,  a  fire-club,  a  professional  as¬ 
sociation,  a  political,  a  religious  convention ;  —  the 
persons  seem  to  draw  inseparably  near  ;  yet,  that 
assembly  once  dispersed,  its  members  will  not  in 
the  year  meet  again.  Each  returns  to  his  degree 
in  the  scale  of  good  society,  porcelain  remains  por¬ 
celain,  and  earthen  earthen.  The  objects  of  fash¬ 
ion  may  be  frivolous,  or  fashion  may  be  objectless, 
but  the  nature  of  this  union  and  selection  can  be 
neither  frivolous  nor  accidental.  Each  man’s  rank 


130 


ESSAY  IV. 


in  that  perfect  graduation  depends  on  some  symme¬ 
try  in  his  structure,  or  some  agreement  in  his  struc¬ 
ture  to  the  symmetry  of  society.  Its  doors  unbar 
instantaneously  to  a  natural  claim  of  their  own  kind. 
A  natural  gentleman  finds  his  way  in,  and  will  keep 
the  oldest  patrician  out,  who  has  lost  his  intrinsic 
rank.  Fashion  understands  itself;  good-breeding 
and  personal  superiority  of  whatever  country  read¬ 
ily  fraternize  with  those  of  every  other.  The 
chiefs  of  savage  tribes  have  distinguished  them¬ 
selves  in  London  and  Paris,  by  the  purity  of  their 
tournure. 

To  say  what  good  of  fashion  we  can,  —  it  rests 
on  reality,  and  hates  nothing  so  much  as  pretend¬ 
ers  ;  —  to  exclude  and  mystify  pretenders,  and  send 
them  into  everlasting  ‘  Coventry,’  is  its  delight. 
We  contemn,  in  turn,  every  other  gift  of  men  of 
the  world ;  but  the  habit  even  in  little  and  the  least 
matters,  of  not  appealing  to  any  but  our  own  sense 
of  propriety,  constitutes  the  foundation  of  all  chiv¬ 
alry.  There  is  almost  no  kind  of  self-reliance,  so 
it  be  sane  and  proportioned,  which  fashion  does  not 
occasionally  adopt,  and  give  it  the  freedom  of  its 
saloons.  A  sainted  soul  is  always  elegant,  and,  if 
it  will,  passes  unchallenged  into  the  most  guarded 
ring.  But  so  will  Jock  the  teamster  pass,  in  some 
crisis  that  brings  him  thither,  and  find  favor,  as 
long  as  his  head  is  not  giddy  with  the  new  circum- 


MANNERS. 


131 


stance,  and  the  iron  shoes  do  not  wish  to  dance  in 
waltzes  and  cotillons.  For  there  is  nothing  settled 
in  manners,  but  the  laws  of  behavior  yield  to  the 
energy  of  the  individual.  The  maiden  at  her  first 
ball,  the  countryman  at  a  city  dinner,  believes  that 
there  is  a  ritual  according  to  which  every  act  and 
compliment  must  be  performed,  or  the  failing  party 
must  be  cast  out  of  this  presence.  Later,  they 
learn  that  good  sense  and  character  make  their 
own  forms  every  moment,  and  speak  or  abstain, 
take  wine  or  refuse  it,  stay  or  go,  sit  in  a  chair  or 
sprawl  with  children  on  the  floor,  or  stand  on  their 
head,  or  what  else  soever,  in  a  new  and  aboriginal 
way :  and  that  strong  will  is  always  in  fashion,  let 
who  will  be  unfashionable.  All  that  fashion  demands 
is  composure,  and  self-content.  A  circle  of  men 
perfectly  well-bred  would  be  a  company  of  sensible 
persons,  in  which  every  man’s  native  manners  and 
character  appeared.  If  the  fashionist  have  not  this 
quality,  he  is  nothing.  We  are  such  lovers  of  self- 
reliance,  that  we  excuse  in  a  man  many  sins,  if  he 
will  show  us  a  complete  satisfaction  in  his  position, 
which  asks  no  leave  to  be,  of  mine,  or  any  man’s 
good  opinion.  But  any  deference  to  some  eminent 
man  or  woman  of  the  world,  forfeits  all  privilege 
of  nobility.  He  is  an  underling:  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him ;  I  will  speak  with  his  master.  A 
man  should  not  go  where  he  cannot  carry  his 


132 


ESSAY  IV. 


whole  sphere  or  society  with  him, — not  bodily, 
the  whole  circle  of  his  friends,  but  atmospherically. 
He  should  preserve  in  a  new  company  the  same 
attitude  of  mind  and  reality  of  relation,  which  his 
daily  associates  draw  him  to,  else  he  is  shorn  of 
his  best  beams,  and  will  be  an  orphan  in  the  mer¬ 
riest  club.  “  If  you  could  see  Yich  Ian  Yohr  with 

his  tail  on! - ”  But  Yich  Ian  Yohr  must  always 

carry  his  belongings  in  some  fashion,  if  not  added 
as  honor,  then  severed  as  disgrace. 

There  will  always  be  in  society  certain  persons 
who  are  mercuries  of  its  approbation,  and  whose 
glance  will  at  any  time  determine  for  the  curious 
their  standing  in  the  world.  These  are  the  cham¬ 
berlains  of  the  lesser  gods.  Accept  their  coldness 
as  an  omen  of  grace  with  the  loftier  deities,  and 
allow  them  all  their  privilege.  They  are  clear  in 
their  office,  nor  could  they  be  thus  formidable, 
without  their  own  merits.  But  do  not  measure 
the  importance  of  this  class  by  their  pretension,  or 
imagine  that  a  fop  can  be  the  dispenser  of  honor 
and  shame.  They  pass  also  at  their  just  rate  ;  for 
how  can  they  otherwise,  in  circles  which  exist  as 
a  sort  of  herald’s  office  for  the  sifting  of  character  ? 

As  the  first  thing  man  requires  of  man,  is  reality, 
so,  that  appears  in  all  the  forms  of  society.  We 
pointedly,  and  by  name,  introduce  the  parties  to 
each  other.  Know  you  before  all  heaven  and 


MANNERS. 


133 


earth,  that  this  is  Andrew,  and  this  is  Gregory ;  — 
they  look  each  other  in  the  eye ;  they  grasp  each 
other’s  hand,  to  identify  and  signalize  each  other. 
It  is  a  great  satisfaction.  A  gentleman  never 
dodges :  his  eyes  look  straight  forward,  and  he 
assures  the  other  party,  first  of  all,  that  he  has 
been  met.  For  what  is  it  that  we  seek,  in  so 
many  visits  and  hospitalities  ?  Is  it  your  draperies, 
pictures,  and  decorations?  Or,  do  we  not  insatiably 
ask,  Was  a  man  in  the  house?  I  may  easily  go 
into  a  great  household  where  there  is  much  sub¬ 
stance,  excellent  provision  for  comfort,  luxury,  and 
taste,  and  yet  not  encounter  there  any  Amphitryon, 
■who  shall  subordinate  these  appendages.  I  may 
go  into  a  cottage,  and  find  a  farmer  who  feels 
that  he  is  the  man  I  have  come  to  see,  and  fronts 
me  accordingly.  It  was  therefore  a  very  natural 
point  of  old  feudal  etiquette,  that  a  gentleman 
who  received  a  visit,  though  it  were  of  his  sov¬ 
ereign,  should  not  leave  his  roof,  but  should  wait 
his  arrival  at  the  door  of  his  house.  No  house, 
though  it  were  the  Tuileries,  or  the  Escurial, 
is  good  for  any  thing  without  a  master.  And  yet 
we  are  not  often  gratified  by  this  hospitality. 
Every  body  we  know  surrounds  himself  with  a 
fine  house,  fine  books,  conservatory,  gardens,  equi¬ 
page,  and  all  manner  of  toys,  as  screens  to  inter¬ 
pose  between  himself  and  his  guest.  Does  it  not 

12 


134 


ESSAY  IV. 


seem  as  if  man  was  of  a  very  sly,  elusive  nature, 
and  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as  a  full  rencontre 
front  to  front  with  his  fellow?  It  were  unmerciful, 
I  know,  quite  to  abolish  the  use  of  these  screens, 
which  are  of  eminent  convenience,  whether  the 
guest  is  too  great,  or  too  little.  We  call  together 
many  friends  who  keep  each  other  in  play,  or,  by 
luxuries  and  ornaments  we  amuse  the  young  peo¬ 
ple,  and  guard  our  retirement.  Or  if,  perchance,  a 
searching  realist  comes  to  our  gate,  before  whose 
eye  we  have  no  care  to  stand,  then  again  we  run 
to  our  curtain,  and  hide  ourselves  as  Adam  at  the 
voice  of  the  Lord  God  in  the  garden.  Cardinal 
Caprara,  the  Pope’s  legate  at  Paris,  defended  him¬ 
self  from  the  glances  of  Napoleon,  by  an  immense 
pair  of  green  spectacles.  Napoleon  remarked  them, 
and  speedily  managed  to  rally  them  off :  and  yet 
Napoleon,  in  his  turn,  was  not  great  enough,  with 
eight  hundred  thousand  troops  at  his  back,  to  face 
a  pair  of  freeborn  eyes,  but  fenced  himself  with  eti¬ 
quette,  and  within  triple  barriers  of  reserve  :  and, 
as  all  the  world  knows  from  Madame  de  Stael,  was 
wont,  when  he  found  himself  observed,  to  dis¬ 
charge  his  face  of  all  expression.  But  emperors 
and  rich  men  are  by  no  means  the  most  skilful 
masters  of  good  manners.  No  rentroll  nor  army- 
list  can  dignify  skulking  and  dissimulation  :  and 
the  first  point  of  courtesy  must  always  be  truth,  as 


MANNERS. 


135 


really  all  the  forms  of  good  breeding  point  that 
way. 

I  have  just  been  reading,  in  Mr.  Hazlitt’s  transla¬ 
tion,  Montaigne’s  account  of  his  journey  into  Italy, 
and  am  struck  with  nothing  more  agreeably  than 
the  self-respecting  fashions  of  the  time.  His  arrival 
in  each  place,  the  arrival  of  a  gentleman  of  France, 
is  an  event  of  some  consequence.  Wherever  he 
goes,  he  pays  a  visit  to  whatever  prince  or  gentle¬ 
man  of  note  resides  upon  his  road,  as  a  duty  to  him¬ 
self  and  to  civilization.  When  he  leaves  any  house 
in  which  he  has  lodged  for  a  few  weeks,  he  causes 
his  arms  to  be  painted  and  hung  up  as  a  perpetual 
sign  to  the  house,  as  was  the  custom  of  gentlemen. 

The  complement  of  this  graceful  self-respect,  and 
that  of  all  the  points  of  good  breeding  I  most  re¬ 
quire  and  insist  upon,  is  deference.  I  like  that  every 
chair  should  be  a  throne,  and  hold  a  king.  I  prefer 
a  tendency  to  stateliness,  to  an  excess  of  fellowship. 
Let  the  incommunicable  objects  of  nature  and  the 
metaphysical  isolation  of  man  teach  us  independ¬ 
ence.  Let  us  not  be  too  much  acquainted.  I 
would  have  a  man  enter  his  house  through  a  hall 
filled  with  heroic  and  sacred  sculptures,  that  he 
might  not  want  the  hint  of  tranquillity  and  self¬ 
poise.  We  should  meet  each  morning,  as  from 
foreign  countries,  and  spending  the  day  together, 
should  depart  at  night,  as  into  foreign  countries. 


136 


ESSAY  IV. 


In  all  things  I  would  have  the  island  of  a  man  in¬ 
violate.  Let  us  sit  apart  as  the  gods,  talking  from 
peak  to  peak  all  round  Olympus.  No  degree  of 
affection  need  invade  this  religion.  This  is  myrrh 
and  rosemary  to  keep  the  other  sweet.  Lovers 
should  guard  their  strangeness.  If  they  forgive  too 
much,  all  slides  into  confusion  and  meanness.  It  is 
easy  to  push  this  deference  to  a  Chinese  etiquette  ; 
but  coolness  and  absence  of  heat  and  haste  indicate 
fine  qualities.  A  gentleman  makes  no  noise  :  a 
lady  is  serene.  Proportionate  is  our  disgust  at  those 
invaders  who  fill  a  studious  house  with  blast  and 
running,  to  secure  some  paltry  convenience.  Not 
less  I  dislike  a  low  sympathy  of  each  with  his  neigh¬ 
bor’s  needs.  Must  we  have  a  good  understanding 
with  one  another’s  palates  ?  as  foolish  people  who 
have  lived  long  together,  know  when  each  wants 
salt  or  sugar.  I  pray  my  companion,  if  he  wishes 
for  bread,  to  ask  me  for  bread,  and  if  he  wishes  for 
sassafras  or  arsenic,  to  ask  me  for  them,  and  not  to 
hold  out  his  plate,  as  if  I  knew  already.  Every 
natural  function  can  be  dignified  by  deliberation 
and  privacy.  Let  us  leave  hurry  to  slaves.  The 
compliments  and  ceremonies  of  our  breeding  should 
recall,  however  remotely,  the  grandeur  of  our  des¬ 
tiny. 

The  flower  of  courtesy  does  not  very  well  bide 
handling,  but  if  we  dare  to  open  another  leaf,  and 


MANNERS. 


137 


explore  what  parts  go  to  its  conformation,  we  shall 
find  also  an  intellectual  quality.  To  the  leaders  of 
men,  the  brain  as  well  as  the  flesh  and  the  heart 
must  furnish  a  proportion.  Defect  in  manners  is 
usually  the  defect  of  fine  perceptions.  Men  are  too 
coarsely  made  for  the  delicacy  of  beautiful  carriage 
and  customs.  It  is  not  quite  sufficient  to  good¬ 
breeding,  a  union  of  kindness  and  independence. 
We  imperatively  require  a  perception  of,  and  a 
homage  to  beauty  in  our  companions.  Other  vir¬ 
tues  are  in  request  in  the  field  and  workyard,  but  a 
certain  degree  of  taste  is  not  to  be  spared  in  those 
we  sit  with.  I  could  better  eat  with  one  who  did 
not  respect  the  truth  or  the  laws,  than  with  a  sloven 
and  unpresentable  person.  Moral  qualities  rule  the 
world,  but  at  short  distances,  the  senses  are  despotic. 
The  same  discrimination  of  fit  and  fair  runs  out,  if 
with  less  rigor,  into  all  parts  of  life.  The  average 
spirit  of  the  energetic  class  is  good  sense,  acting 
under  certain  limitations  and  to  certain  ends.  It 
entertains  every  natural  gift.  Social  in  its  nature, 
it  respects  every  thing  which  tends  to  unite  men. 
It  delights  in  measure.  The  love  of  beauty  is 
mainly  the  love  of  measure  or  proportion.  The 
person  who  screams,  or  uses  the  superlative  degree, 
or  converses  with  heat,  puts  whole  drawing-rooms 
to  flight.  If  you  wish  to  be  loved,  love  measure. 
You  must  have  genius,  or  a  prodigious  usefulness, 

12  * 


138 


ESSAY  IV. 


if  you  will  hide  the  want  of  measure.  This  per¬ 
ception  comes  in  to  polish  and  perfect  the  parts  of 
the  social  instrument.  Society  will  pardon  much 
to  genius  and  special  gifts,  but,  being  in  its  nature 
a  convention,  it  loves  what  is  conventional,  or 
what  belongs  to  coming  together.  That  makes 
the  good  and  bad  of  manners,  namely,  what  helps 
or  hinders  fellowship.  For,  fashion  is  not  good 
sense  absolute,  but  relative  ;  not  good  sense  private, 
but  good  sense  entertaining  company.  It  hates 
corners  and  sharp  points  of  character,  hates  quar¬ 
relsome,  egotistical,  solitary,  and  gloomy  people ; 
hates  whatever  can  interfere  with  total  blending  of 
parties ;  whilst  it  values  all  peculiarities  as  in  the 
highest  degree  refreshing,  which  can  consist  with 
good  fellowship.  And  besides  the  general  infusion 
of  wit  to  heighten  civility,  the  direct  splendor  of 
intellectual  power  is  ever  welcome  in  fine  society 
as  the  costliest  addition  to  its  rule  and  its  credit. 

The  dry  light  must  shine  in  to  adorn  our  festival, 
but  it  must  be  tempered  and  shaded,  or  that  will 
also  offend.  Accuracy  is  essential  to  beauty,  and 
quick  perceptions  to  politeness,  but  not  too  quick 
perceptions.  One  may  be  too  punctual  and  too 
precise.  He  must  leave  the  omniscience  of  busi¬ 
ness  at  the  door,  when  he  comes  into  the  palace  of 
beauty.  Society  loves  creole  natures,  and  sleepy, 
languishing  manners,  so  that  they  cover  sense,  grace, 


MANNERS. 


139 


and  good-will :  the  air  of  drowsy  strength,  which 
disarms  criticism ;  perhaps,  because  such  a  person 
seems  to  reserve  himself  for  the  best  of  the  game, 
and  not  spend  himself  on  surfaces  ;  an  ignoring  eye, 
which  does  not  see  the  annoyances,  shifts,  and  in¬ 
conveniences,  that  cloud  the  brow  and  smother  the 
voice  of  the  sensitive. 

Therefore,  besides  personal  force  and  so  much 
perception  as  constitutes  unerring  taste,  society  de¬ 
mands  in  its  patrician  class,  another  element  already 
intimated,  which  it  significantly  terms  good-nature, 
expressing  all  degrees  of  generosity,  from  the  low¬ 
est  willingness  and  faculty  to  oblige,  up  to  the 
heights  of  magnanimity  and  love.  Insight  we 
must  have,  or  we  shall  run  against  one  another,  and 
miss  the  way  to  our  food  ;  but  intellect  is  selfish 
and  barren.  The  secret  of  success  in  society,  is  a 
certain  heartiness  and  sympathy.  A  man  who  is 
not  happy  in  the  company,  cannot  find  any  word 
in  his  memory  that  will  fit  the  occasion.  All  his 
information  is  a  little  impertinent.  A  man  who  is 
happy  there,  finds  in  every  turn  of  the  conversation 
equally  lucky  occasions  for  the  introduction  of  that 
which  he  has  to  say.  The  favorites  of  society,  and 
what  it  calls  whole  souls,  are  able  men,  and  of  more 
spirit  than  wit,  who  have  no  uncomfortable  egotism, 
but  who  exactly  fill  the  hour  and  the  company, 
contented  and  contenting,  at  a  marriage  or  a  fune- 


140 


ESSAY  IV. 


ral,  a  ball  or  a  jur)  a  water-party  or  a  shooting- 
match.  England,  wnich  is  rich  in  gentlemen,  fur¬ 
nished,  in  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  a 
good  model  of  that  genius  which  the  world  loves, 
in  Mr.  Fox,  who  added  to  his  great  abilities  the 
most  social  disposition,  and  real  love  of  men.  Par¬ 
liamentary  history  has  few  better  passages  than  the 
debate,  in  which  Burke  and  Fox  separated  in  the 
House  of  Commons ;  when  Fox  urged  on  his  old 
friend  the  claims  of  old  friendship  with  such  ten¬ 
derness,  that  the  house  was  moved  to  tears.  Another 
anecdote  is  so  close  to  my  matter,  that  I  must  haz¬ 
ard  the  story.  A  tradesman  who  had  long  dunned 
him  for  a  note  of  three  hundred  guineas,  found  him 
one  day  counting  gold,  and  demanded  payment : 
“No,”  said  Fox,  “  I  owe  this  money  to  Sheridan  : 
it  is  a  debt  of  honor  :  if  an  accident  should  happen 
to  me,  he  has  nothing  to  show.”  “  Then,”  said 
the  creditor,  “  I  change  my  debt  into  a  debt  of 
honor,”  and  tore  the  note  in  pieces.  Fox  thanked 
the  man  for  his  confidence,  and  paid  him,  saying, 
“  his  debt  was  of  older  standing,  and  Sheridan 
must  wait.”  Lover  of  liberty,  friend  of  the  Hin¬ 
doo,  friend  of  the  African  slave,  he  possessed  a  great 
personal  popularity ;  and  Napoleon  said  of  him  on 
the  occasion  of  his  visit  to  Paris,  in  1S05,  “  Mr. 
Fox  will  always  hold  the  first  place  in  an  assembly 
at  the  Tuileries.” 


MANNERS. 


141 


We  may  easily  seem  ridiculous  in  our  eulogy  of 
courtesy,  whenever  we  insist  on  benevolence  as  its 
foundation.  The  painted  phantasm  Fashion  rises 
to  cast  a  species  of  derision  on  what  we  say.  But 
I  will  neither  be  driven  from  some  allowance  to 
Fashion  as  a  symbolic  institution,  nor  from  the  be¬ 
lief  that  love  is  the  basis  of  courtesy.  We  must 
obtain  that,  if  we  can  ;  but  by  all  means  we  must 
affirm  this.  Life  owes  much  of  its  spirit  to  these 
sharp  contrasts.  Fashion  which  affects  to  be  honor, 
is  often,  in  all  men’s  experience,  only  a  ballroom- 
code.  Yet,  so  long  as  it  is  the  highest  circle,  in  the 
imagination  of  the  best  heads  on  the  planet,  there 
is  something  necessary  and  excellent  in  it ;  for  it  is 
not  to  be  supposed  that  men  have  agreed  to  be  the 
dupes  of  anything  preposterous ;  and  the  respect 
which  these  mysteries  inspire  in  the  most  rude  and 
sylvan  characters,  and  the  curiosity  with  which 
details  of  high  life  are  read,  betray  the  universality 
of  the  love  of  cultivated  manners.  I  know  that  a 
comic  disparity  would  be  felt,  if  we  should  enter 
the  acknowledged  ‘first  circles,’  and  apply  these 
terrific  standards  of  justice,  beauty,  and  benefit,  to 
the  individuals  actually  found  there.  Monarchs  and 
heroes,  sages  and  lovers,  these  gallants  are  not. 
Fashion  has  many  classes  and  many  rules  of  pro¬ 
bation  and  admission ;  and  not  the  best  alone. 
There  is  not  only  the  right  of  conquest,  which 


142 


ESSAY  IV. 


genius  pretends,  —  the  individual,  demonstrating 
his  natural  aristocracy  best  of  the  best;  —  but  less 
claims  will  pass  for  the  time  ;  for  Fashion  loves 
lions,  and  points,  like  Circe,  to  her  horned  company. 
This  gentleman  is  this  afternoon  arrived  from  Den¬ 
mark  ;  and  that  is  my  Lord  Ride,  who  came  yester¬ 
day  from  Bagdat ;  here  is  Captain  Friese,  from  Cape 
Turnagain  ;  and  Captain  Symmes,  from  the  interior 
of  the.  earth  ;  and  Monsieur  Jovaire,  who  came 
down  this  morning  in  a  balloon ;  Mr.  Hobnail,  the 
reformer  ;  and  Reverend  Jul  Bat,  who  has  converted 
the  whole  torrid  zone  in  his  Sunday  school ;  and 
Signor  Torre  del  Greco,  who  extinguished  Vesuvius 
by  pouring  into  it  the  Bay  of  Naples  ;  Spahi,  the 
Persian  ambassador;  and  Tul  Wil  Shan,  the  exiled 
nabob  of  Nepaul,  whose  saddle  is  the  new  moon. 
—  But  these  are  monsters  of  one  day,  and  to-morrow 
will  be  dismissed  to  their  holes  and  dens ;  for,  in 
these  rooms,  every  chair  is  waited  for.  The  artist, 
the  scholar,  and,  in  general,  the  clerisy,  wins  its 
way  up  into  these  places,  and  gets  represented  here, 
somewhat  on  this  footing  of  conquest.  Another 
mode  is  to  pass  through  all  the  degrees,  spending  a 
year  and  a  day  in  St.  Michael’s  Square,  being 
steeped  in  Cologne  water,  and  perfumed,  and  dined, 
and  introduced,  and  properly  grounded  in  all  the 
biography,  and  politics,  and  anecdotes  of  the  bou¬ 
doirs. 


MANNERS. 


143 


Yet  these  fineries  may  have  grace  and  wit.  Let 
there  be  grotesque  sculpture  about  the  gates  and 
offices  of  temples.  Let  the  creed  and  command¬ 
ments  even  have  the  saucy  homage  of  parody.  The 
forms  of  politeness  universally  express  benevolence 
in  superlative  degrees.  What  if  they  are  in  the 
mouths  of  selfish  men,  and  used  as  means  of  self¬ 
ishness  ?  What  if  the  false  gentleman  almost 
bows  the  true  out  of  the  world  ?  What  if  the  false 
gentleman  contrives  so  to  address  his  companion, 
as  civilly  to  exclude  all  others  from  his  discourse, 
and  also  to  make  them  feel  excluded  ?  Real  ser¬ 
vice  will  not  lose  its  nobleness.  All  generosity  is 
not  merely  French  and  sentimental ;  nor  is  it  to  be 
concealed,  that  living  blood  and  a  passion  of  kind¬ 
ness  does  at  last  distinguish  God’s  gentleman  from 
Fashion’s.  The  epitaph  of  Sir  Jenkin  Grout  is  not 
wholly  unintelligible  to  the  present  age.  “  Here 
lies  Sir  Jenkin  Grout,  who  loved  his  friend,  and 
persuaded  his  enemy :  what  his  mouth  ate,  his 
hand  paid  for :  what  his  servants  robbed,  he  re¬ 
stored  :  if  a  woman  gave  him  pleasure,  he  sup¬ 
ported  her  in  pain  :  he  never  forgot  his  children  : 
and  whoso  touched  his  finger,  drew  after  it  his 
whole  body.”  Even  the  line  of  heroes  is  not  ut¬ 
terly  extinct.  There  is  still  ever  some  admirable 
person  in  plain  clothes,  standing  on  the  wharf,  who 
jumps  in  to  rescue  a  drowning  man  ;  there  is  still 


144 


ESSAY  IV. 


some  absurd  inventor  of  charities ;  some  guide  and 
comforter  of  runaway  slaves ;  some  friend  of  Po¬ 
land  ;  some  Philhellene  ;  some  fanatic  who  plants 
shade-trees  for  the  second  and  third  generation,  and 
orchards  when  he  is  grown  old  ;  some  well-con¬ 
cealed  piety :  some  just  man  happy  in  an  ill-fame  ; 
some  youth  ashamed  of  the  favors  of  fortune,  and 
impatiently  casting  them  on  other  shoulders.  And 
these  are  the  centres  of  society,  on  which  it  returns 
for  fresh  impulses.  These  are  the  creators  of 
Fashion,  which  is  an  attempt  to  organize  beauty 
of  behavior.  The  beautiful  and  the  generous  are, 
in  the  theory,  the  doctors  and  apostles  of  this 
church  :  Scipio,  and  the  Cid,  and  Sir  Philip  Sid¬ 
ney,  and  Washington,  and  every  pure  and  valiant 
heart,  who  worshipped  Beauty  by  word  and  by 
deed.  The  persons  who  constitute  the  natural 
aristocracy,  are  not  found  in  the  actual  aristocracy, 
or,  only  on  its  edge  ;  as  the  chemical  energy  of 
the  spectrum  is  found  to  be  greatest  just  outside  of 
the  spectrum.  Yet  that  is  the  infirmity  of  the  senes¬ 
chals,  who  do  not  know  their  sovereign,  when  he 
appears.  The  theory  of  society  supposes  the  exist¬ 
ence  and  sovereignty  of  these.  It  divines  afar  off 
their  coming.  It  says  with  the  elder  gods,  — 

“  As  Heaven  and  Earth  are  fairer  far 
Than  Chaos  and  blank  Darkness,  though  once  chiefs ; 

And  as  we  show  beyond  that  Heaven  and  Earth, 

In  form  and  shape  compact  and  beautiful ; 


MANNERS. 


145 


So,  on  our  heels  a  fresh  perfection  treads  ; 

A  power,  more  strong  in  beauty,  bom  of  us, 

And  fated  to  excel  us,  as  we  pass 
In  glory  that  old  Darkness  : 

- for,  ’tis  the  eternal  law, 

That  first  in  beauty  shall  be  first  in  might.” 

Therefore,  within  the  ethnical  circle  of  good 
society,  there  is  a  narrower  and  higher  circle,  con¬ 
centration  of  its  light,  and  flower  of  courtesy,  to 
which  there  is  always  a  tacit  appeal  of  pride  and 
reference,  as  to  its  inner  and  imperial  court,  the 
parliament  of  love  and  chivalry.  And  this  is  con¬ 
stituted  of  those  persons  in  whom  heroic  disposi¬ 
tions  are  native,  with  the  love  of  beauty,  the 
delight  in  society,  and  the  power  to  embellish  the 
passing  day.  If  the  individuals  who  compose  the 
purest  circles  of  aristocracy  in  Europe,  the  guarded 
blood  of  centuries,  should  pass  in  review,  in  such 
manner  as  that  we  could,  at  leisure,  and  critically 
inspect  their  behavior,  we  might  find  no  gentleman, 
and  no  lady;  for,  although  excellent  specimens  of 
courtesy  and  high-breeding  would  gratify  us  in 
the  assemblage,  in  the  particulars,  we  should  detect 
offence.  Because,  elegance  comes  of  no  breeding, 
but  of  birth.  There  must  be  romance  of  charac¬ 
ter,  or  the  most  fastidious  exclusion  of  impertinen- 
cies  will  not  avail.  It  must  be  genius  which  takes 
that  direction  :  it  must  be  not  courteous,  but  courtesy. 
High  behavior  is  as  rare  in  fiction,  as  it  is  in  fact 

13 


146  ESSAY  IV. 

Scott  is  praised  for  the  fidelity  with  which  he 
painted  the  demeanor  and  conversation  of  the 
superior  classes.  Certainly,  kings  and  queens, 
nobles  and  great  ladies,  had  some  right  to  complain 
of  the  absurdity  that  had  been  put  in  their  mouths, 
before  the  days  of  Waverley  ;  but  neither  does 
Scott’s  dialogue  bear  criticism.  His  lords  brave 
each  other  in  smart  epigrammatic  speeches,  but  the 
dialogue  is  in  costume,  and  does  not  please  on  the 
second  reading  :  it  is  not  warm  with  life.  In  Shak- 
speare  alone,  the  speakers  do  not  strut  and  bridle, 
the  dialogue  is  easily  great,  and  he  adds  to  so  many 
titles  that  of  being  the  best-bred  man  in  England, 
and  in  Christendom.  Once  or  twice  in  a  lifetime 
we  are  permitted  to  enjoy  the  charm  of  noble  man¬ 
ners,  in  the  presence  of  a  man  or  woman  who  have 
no  bar  in  their  nature,  but  whose  character  emanates 
freely  in  their  word  and  gesture.  A  beautiful  form 
is  better  than  a  beautiful  face  ;  a  beautiful  behavior 
is  better  than  a  beautiful  form  :  it  gives  a  higher  . 
pleasure  than  statues  or  pictures  ;  it  is  the  finest  of 
the  fine  arts.  A  man  is  but  a  little  thing  in  the 
midst  of  the  objects  of  nature,  yet,  by  the  moral 
quality  radiating  from  his  countenance,  he  may 
abolish  all  considerations  of  magnitude,  and  in  his 
manners  equal  the  majesty  of  the  world.  I  have 
seen  an  individual,  whose  manners,  though  wholly 
within  the  conventions  of  elegant  society,  were 


MANNERS. 


147 


never  learned  there,  but  were  original  and  com¬ 
manding,  _and  held  out  protection  and  prosperity; 
one  who  did  not  need  the  aid  of  a  court-suit,  but 
carried  the  holiday  in  his  eye  ;  who  exhilarated  the 
fancy  by  flinging  wide  the  doors  of  new  modes  of 
existence  ;  who  shook  off  the  captivity  of  etiquette, 
with  happy,  spirited  bearing,  good-natured  and  free 
as  Robin  Hood ;  yet  with  the  port  of  an  emperor,  — 
if  need  be,  calm,  serious,  and  fit  to  stand  the  gaze 
of  millions. 

The  open  air  and  the  fields,  the  street  and  pub¬ 
lic  chambers,  are  the  places  where  Man  executes 
his  will  ;  let  him  yield  or  divide  the  sceptre  at  the 
door  of  the  house.  Woman,  with  her  instinct  of 
behavior,  instantly  detects  in  man  a  love  of  trifles, 
any  coldness  or  imbecility,  or,  in  short,  any  want  of 
that  large,  flowing,  and  magnanimous  deportment, 
which  is  indispensable  as  an  exterior  in  the  hall. 
Our  American  institutions  have  been  friendly  to  her, 
and  at  this  moment,  I  esteem  it  a  chief  felicity  of 
this  country,  that  it  excels  in  women.  A  certain 
awkward  consciousness  of  inferiority  in  the  men, 
may  give  rise  to  the  new  chivalry  in  behalf  of 
Woman’s  Rights.  Certainly,  let  her  be  as  much 
better  placed  in  the  laws  and  in  social  forms,  as  the 
most  zealous  reformer  can  ask,  but  I  confide  so  en¬ 
tirely  in  her  inspiring  and  musical  nature,  that  I 
believe  only  herself  can  show  us  how  she  shall  be 


148 


ESSAY  IV. 


served.  The  wonderful  generosity  of  her  senti¬ 
ments  raises  her  at  times  into  heroical  and  godlike 
regions,  and  verifies  the  pictures  of  Minerva,  Juno, 
or  Polymnia ;  and,  by  the  firmness  with  which  she 
treads  her  upward  path,  she  convinces  the  coarsest 
calculators  that  another  road  exists,  than  that 
which  their  feet  know.  But  besides  those  who 
make  good  in  our  imagination  the  place  of  muses 
and  of  Delphic  Sibyls,  are  there  not  women  who 
fill  our  vase  with  wine  and  roses  to  the  brim,  so 
that  the  wine  runs  over  and  fills  the  house  with 
perfume;  who  inspire  us  with  courtesy;  who  un¬ 
loose  our  tongues,  and  we  speak ;  who  anoint  our 
eyes,  and  we  see  ?  We  say  things  we  never 
thought  to  have  said ;  for  once,  our  walls  of  habit¬ 
ual  reserve  vanished,  and  left  us  at  large ;  we  were 
children  playing  with  children  in  a  wide  field  of 
flowers.  Steep  us,  we  cried,  in  these  influences, 
for  days,  for  weeks,  and  we  shall  be  sunny  poets, 
and  will  write  out  in  many-colored  words  the 
romance  that  you  are.  Was  it  Hafiz  or  Firdousi, 
that  said  of  his  Persian  Lilia,  She  was  an  elemental 
force,  and  astonished  me  by  her  amount  of  life, 
when  I  saw  her  day  after  day  radiating,  every 
instant,  redundant  joy  and  grace  on  all  around  her. 
She  was  a  solvent  powerful  to  reconcile  all  hetero¬ 
geneous  persons  into  one  society  :  like  air  or  water, 
an  element  of  such  a  great  range  of  affinities,  that 


MANNERS. 


149 


it  combines  readily  with  a  thousand  substances. 
Where  she  is  present,  all  others  will  be  more  than 
they  are  wont.  She  was  a  unit  and  whole,  so 
that  whatsoever  she  did,  became  her.  She  had  too 
much  sympathy  and  desire  to  please,  than  that  you 
could  say,  her  manners  were  marked  with  dignity, 
yet  no  princess  could  surpass  her  clear  and  erect 
demeanor  on  each  occasion.  She  did  not  study 
the  Persian  grammar,  nor  the  books  of  the  seven 
poets,  but  all  the  poems  of  the  seven  seemed  to  be 
written  upon  her.  For,  though  the  bias  of  her 
nature  was  not  to  thought,  but  to  sympathy,  yet 
was  she  so  perfect  in  her  own  nature,  as  to  meet 
intellectual  persons  by  the  fulness  of  her  heart, 
warming  them  by  her  sentiments ;  believing,  as  she 
did,  that  by  dealing  nobly  with  all,  all  would  show 
themselves  noble. 

0 

I  know  that  this  Byzantine  pile  of  chivalry  or 
Fashion,  which  seems  so  fair  and  picturesque  to 
those  who  look  at  the  contemporary  facts  for  science 
or  for  entertainment,  is  not  equally  pleasant  to  all 
spectators.  The  constitution  of  our  society  makes 
it  a  giant’s  castle  to  the  ambitious  youth  who  have 
not  found  their  names  enrolled  in  its  Golden  Book, 
and  whom  it  has  excluded  from  its  coveted  honors 
and  privileges.  They  have  yet  to  learn  that  its 
seeming  grandeur  is  shadowy  and  relative:  it  is 

13* 


150 


ESSAY  IV. 


great  by  their  allowance  :  its  proudest  gates  will 
fly  open  at  the  approach  of  their  courage  and  virtue. 
For  the  present  distress,  however,  of  those  who 
are  predisposed  to  suffer  from  the  tyrannies  of  this 
caprice,  there  are  easy  remedies.  To  remove  your 
residence  a  couple  of  miles,  or  at  most  four,  will 
commonly  relieve  the  most  extreme  susceptibility. 
For,  the  advantages  which  fashion  values,  are  plants 
which  thrive  in  very  confined  localities,  in  a  few 
streets,  namely.  Out  of  this  precinct,  they  go  for 
nothing  ;  are  of  no  use  in  the  farm,  in  the  forest, 
in  the  market,  in  war,  in  the  nuptial  society,  in 
the  literary  or  scientific  circle,  at  sea,  in  friendship, 
in  the  heaven  of  thought  or  virtue. 

But  we  have  lingered  long  enough  in  these 
painted  courts.  The  worth  of  the  thing  signified 
must  vindicate  our  taste  for  the  emblem.  Every¬ 
thing  that  is  called  fashion  and  courtesy  humbles 
itself  before  the  cause  and  fountain  of  honor,  crea¬ 
tor  of  titles  and  dignities,  namely,  the  heart  of 
love.  This  is  the  royal  blood,  this  the  fire,  which, 
in  all  countries  and  contingencies,  will  work  after 
its  kind,  and  conquer  and  expand  all  that  approaches 
it.  This  gives  new  meanings  to  every  fact.  This 
impoverishes  the  rich,  suffering  no  grandeur  but  its 
own.  What  is  rich  ?  Are  you  rich  enough  to 
help  anybody  ?  to  succor  the  unfashionable  and 
the  eccentric  ?  rich  enough  to  make  the  Canadian 


MANNERS. 


151 


ill  his  wagon,  the  itinerant  with  his  consul’s  paper 
which  commends  him  “  To  the  charitable,”  the 
swarthy  Italian  with  his  few  broken  words  of 
English,  the  lame  pauper  hunted  by  overseers  from 
town  to  town,  even  the  poor  insane  or  besotted 
wreck  of  man  or  woman,  feel  the  noble  exception 
of  your  presence  and  your  house,  from  the  general 
bleakness  and  stoniness ;  to  make  such  feel  that 
they  were  greeted  with  a  voice  which  made  them 
both  remember  and  hope  ?  What  is  vulgar,  but  to 
refuse  the  claim  on  acute  and  conclusive  reasons  ? 
What  is  gentle,  but  to  allow  it,  and  give  their  heart 
and  yours  one  holiday  from  the  national  caution  ? 
Without  the  rich  heart,  wealth  is  an  ugly  beggar. 
The  king  of  Schiraz  could  not  alford  to  be  so 
bountiful  as  the  poor  Osman  who  dwelt  at  his  gate. 
Osman  had  a  humanity  so  broad  and  deep,  that 
although  his  speech  was  so  bold  and  free  with  the 
Koran,  as  to  disgust  all  the  dervishes,  yet  was  there 
never  a  poor  outcast,  eccentric,  or  insane  man,  some 
fool  who  had  cut  off  his  beard,  or  who  had  been 
mutilated  under  a  vow,  or  had  a  pet  madness  in  his 
brain,  but  fled  at  once  to  him, —  that  great  heart  lay 
there  so  sunny  and  hospitable  in  the  centre  of  the 
country,  —  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  instinct  of  all 
sufferers  drew  them  to  his  side.  And  the  madness 
which  he  harbored,  he  did  not  share.  Is  not  this 
to  be  rich  ?  this  only  to  be  rightly  rich  ? 


152 


ESSAY  IV. 


But  I  shall  hear  without  pain,  that  I  play  the 
courtier  very  ill,  and  talk  of  that  which  I  do  not 
well  understand.  It  is  easy  to  see,  that  what  is 
called  by  distinction  society  and  fashion,  has  good 
laws  as  well  as  bad,  has  much  that  is  necessary, 
and  much  that  is  absurd.  Too  good  for  banning, 
and  too  bad  for  blessing,  it  reminds  us  of  a  tra¬ 
dition  of  the  pagan  mythology,  in  any  attempt  to 
settle  its  character.  1 1  overheard  Jove,  one  day,’ 
said  Silenus,  ‘  talking  of  destroying  the  earth  ;  he 
said,  it  had  failed  ;  they  were  all  rogues  and  vixens, 
who  went  from  bad  to  worse,  as  fast  as  the  days 
succeeded  each  other.  Minerva  said,  she  hoped  not ; 
they  were  only  ridiculous  little  creatures,  with  this 
odd  circumstance,  that  they  had  a  blur,  or  in¬ 
determinate  aspect,  seen  far  or  seen  near  ;  if  you 
called  them  bad,  they  would  appear  so ;  if  you 
called  them  good,  they  would  appear  so  ;  and  there 
was  no  one  person  or  action  among  them,  which 
would  not  puzzle  her  owl,  much  more  all  Olympus, 
to  know  whether  it  was  fundamentally  bad  or 
good.’ 


GIFTS 


Gifts  of  one  who  loved  me,  — 
Twas  hi-fli  time  they  came  : 
When  he  ceased  to  love  me, 
Time  they  stopped  for  shame. 


r, 


, 


. 


:"W 

- 


I 

\  -  • 

1  * 

.. 

.  • 


ESSAY  V. 


GIFTS. 


It  is  said  that  the  world  is  in  a  state  of  bank¬ 
ruptcy,  that  the  world  owes  the  world  more  than 
the  world  can  pay,  and  ought  to  go  into  chancery, 
and  be  sold.  I  do  not  think  this  general  insolvency, 
which  involves  in  some  sort  all  the  population, 
to  be  the  reason  of  the  difficulty  experienced  at 
Christmas  and  New  Year,  and  other  times,  in  be¬ 
stowing  gifts  ;  since  it  is  always  so  pleasant  to  be 
generous,  though  very  vexatious  to  pay  debts. 
But  the  impediment  lies  in  the  choosing.  If,  at 
any  time,  it  comes  into  my  head,  that  a  present  is 
due  from  me  to  somebody,  I  am  puzzled  what  to 
give,  until  the  opportunity  is  gone.  Flowers  and 
fruits  are  always  fit  presents  ;  flowers,  because  they 
are  a  proud  assertion  that  a  ray  of  beauty  out¬ 
values  all  the  utilities  of  the  world.  These  gay 
natures  contrast  with  the  somewhat  stern  coun¬ 
tenance  of  ordinary  nature  :  they  are  like  music 


156 


ESSAY  V. 


heard  out  of  a  workhouse.  Nature  does  not  cocker 
us :  we  are  children,  not  pets  :  she  is  not  fond  : 
everything  is  dealt  to  us  without  fear  or  favor,  after 
severe  universal  laws.  Yet  these  delicate  flowers 
look  like  the  frolic  and  interference  of  love  and 
beauty.  Men  use  to  tell  us  that  we  love  flattery, 
even  though  we  are  not  deceived  by  it,  because  it 
shows  that  we  are  of  importance  enough  to  be 
courted.  Something  like  that  pleasure,  the  flowers 
give  us  :  what  am  I  to  whom  these  sweet  hints 
are  addressed  ?  Fruits  are  acceptable  gifts,  because 
they  are  the  flower  of  commodities,  and  admit  of 
fantastic  values  being  attached  to  them.  If  a  man 
should  send  to  me  to  come  a  hundred  miles  to  visit 
him,  and  should  set  before  me  a  basket  of  fine  sum¬ 
mer-fruit,  I  should  think  there  was  some  proportion 
between  the  labor  and  the  reward. 

For  common  gifts,  necessity  makes  pertinences 
and  beauty  every  day,  and  one  is  glad  when  an 
imperative  leaves  him  no  option,  since  if  the  man 
at  the  door  have  no  shoes,  you  have  not  to  con¬ 
sider  whether  you  could  procure  him  a  paint-box. 
And  as  it  is  always  pleasing  to  see  a  man  eat  bread, 
or  drink  water,  in  the  house  or  out  of  doors,  so  it 
is  always  a  great  satisfaction  to  supply  these  first 
wants.  Necessity  does  everything  well.  In  our 
condition  of  universal  dependence,  it  seems  heroic 
to  let  the  petitioner  be  the  judge  of  his  necessity, 


GIFTS. 


1 57 


and  to  give  all  that  is  asked,  though  at  great  incon¬ 
venience.  If  it  be  a  fantastic  desire,  it  is  better  to 
leave  to  others  the  office  of  punishing  him.  I  can 
think  of  many  parts  I  should  prefer  playing  to  that 
of  the  Furies.  Next  to  things  of  necessity,  the 
rule  for  a  gift,  which  one  of  my  friends  prescribed, 
is,  that  we  might  convey  to  some  person  that  which 
properly  belonged  to  his  character,  and  was  easily 
associated  with  him  in  thought.  But  our  tokens 
of  compliment  and  love  are  for  the  most  part  bar¬ 
barous.  Rings  and  other  jewels  are  not  gifts,  but 
apologies  for  gifts.  The  only  gift  is  a  portion  of 
thyself.  Thou  must  bleed  for  me.  Therefore  the 
poet  brings  his  poem  ;  the  shepherd,  his  lamb  ;  the 
farmer,  corn  ;  the  miner,  a  gem ;  the  sailor,  coral 
and  shells  ;  the  painter,  his  picture  ;  the  girl,  a  hand¬ 
kerchief  of  her  own  sewing.  This  is  right  and 
pleasing,  for  it  restores  society  in  so  far  to  the  pri¬ 
mary  basis,  when  a  man’s  biography  is  conveyed 
in  his  gift,  and  every  man’s  wealth  is  an  index  of 
his  merit.  But  it  is  a  cold,  lifeless  business  when 
you  go  to  the  shops  to  buy  me  something,  which 
does  not  represent  your  life  and  talent,  but  a  gold¬ 
smith’s.  This  is  fit  for  kings,  and  rich  men  who 
represent  kings,  and  a  false  state  of  property,  to 
make  presents  of  gold  and  silver  stuffs,  as  a  kind 
of  symbolical  sin-offering,  or  payment  of  black¬ 
mail. 


14 


158 


ESSAY  V. 


The  law  of  benefits  is  a  difficult  channel,  which 
requires  careful  sailing,  or  rude  boats.  It  is  not 
the  office  of  a  man  to  receive  gifts.  How  dare 
you  give  them  ?  We  wish  to  be  self-sustained. 
We  do  not  quite  forgive  a  giver.  The  hand  that 
feeds  us  is  in  some  danger  of  being  bitten.  We 
can  receive  anything  from  love,  for  that  is  a  way  of 
receiving  it  from  ourselves  ;  but  not  from  any  on& 
who  assumes  to  bestow.  We  sometimes  hate  the 
meat  which  we  eat,  because  there  seems  something 
of  degrading  dependence  in  living  by  it. 


“  Brother,  if  Jove  to  thee  a  present  make, 

Take  heed  that  from  his  hands  thou  nothing  take.” 

We  ask  the  whole.  Nothing  less  will  content  us 
We  arraign  society,  if  it  do  not  give  us  besides 
earth,  and  fire,  and  water,  opportunity,  love,  rever¬ 
ence,  and  objects  of  veneration. 

He  is  a  good  man,  who  can  receive  a  gift  well. 
We  are  either  glad  or  sorry  at  a  gift,  and  both  emo¬ 
tions  are  unbecoming.  Some  violence,  I  think,  is 
done,  some  degradation  borne,  when  I  rejoice  or 
grieve  at  a  gift.  I  am  sorry  when  my  independence 
is  invaded,  or  when  a  gift  comes  from  such  as  do 
not  know  my  spirit,  and  so  the  act  is  not  supported  ; 
and  if  the  gift  pleases  me  overmuch,  then  I  should 
be  ashamed  that  the  donor  should  read  my  heart, 
and  see  that  I  love  his  commodity,  and  not  him. 


GIFTS. 


159 


The  gift,  to  be  true,  must  be  the  flowing  of  the 
giver  unto  me,  correspondent  to  my  flowing  unto 
him.  When  the  waters  are  at  level,  then  my 
goods  pass  to  him,  and  his  to  me.  All  his  are  mine, 
all  mine  his.  I  say  to  him,  How  can  you  give  me 
this  pot  of  oil,  or  this  flagon  of  wine,  when  all 
your  oil  and  wine  is  mine,  which  belief  of  mine 
this  gift  seems  to  deny  ?  Hence  the  fitness  of 
beautiful,  not  useful  things  for  gifts.  This  giving 
is  flat  usurpation,  and  therefore  when  the  bene¬ 
ficiary  is  ungrateful,  as  all  beneficiaries  hate  all 
Timons,  not  at  all  considering  the  value  of  the 
gift,  but  looking  back  to  the  greater  store  it  was 
taken  from,  I  rather  sympathize  with  the  bene¬ 
ficiary,  than  with  the  anger  of  my  lord  Timon. 
For,  the  expectation  of  gratitude  is  mean,  and  is 
continually  punished  by  the  total  insensibility  of 
the  obliged  person.  It  is  a  great  happiness  to  get 
off  without  injury  and  heart-burning,  from  one  who 
has  had  the  ill  luck  to'  be  served  by  you.  It  is  a 
very  onerous  business,  this  of  being  served,  and 
the  debtor  naturally  wishes  to  give  you  a  slap.  A 
golden  text  for  these  gentlemen  is  that  which  I  so 
admire  in  the  Buddhist,  who  never  thanks,  and 
who  says,  “  Do  not  flatter  your  benefactors.” 

The  reason  of  these  discords  I  conceive  to  be, 
that  there  is  no  commensurability  between  a  man 
and  any  gift.  You  cannot  give  anything  to  a  mag- 


160 


ESSAY  V. 


nanimous  person.  After  you  have  served  him,  he 
at  once  puts  you  in  debt  by  his  magnanimity. 
The  service  a  man  renders  his  friend  is  trivial  and 
selfish,  compared  with  the  service  he  knows  his 
friend  stood  in  readiness  to  yield  him,  alike  before 
he  had  begun  to  serve  his  friend,  and  now  also. 
Compared  with  that  good  will  I  bear  my  friend,  the 
benefit  it  is  in  my  power  to  render  him  seems  small. 
Besides,  our  action  on  each  other,  good  as  well  as 
evil,  is  so  incidental  and  at  random,  that  we  can  sel¬ 
dom  hear  the  acknowledgments  of  any  person  who 
would  thank  us  for  a  benefit,  without  some  shame 
and  humiliation.  We  can  rarely  strike  a  direct 
stroke,  but  must  be  content  with  an  oblique  one  ; 
we  seldom  have  the  satisfaction  of  yielding  a  direct 
benefit,  which  is  directly  received.  But  rectitude 
scatters  favors  on  every  side  without  knowing  it, 
and  receives  with  wonder  the  thanks  of  all  people. 

I  fear  to  breathe  any  treason  against  the  majesty 
of  love,  which  is  the  genius  and  god  of  gifts,  and 
to  whom  we  must  not  affect  to  prescribe.  Let 
him  give  kingdoms  or  flower-leaves  indifferently. 
There  are  persons,  from  whom  we  always  expect 
fairy-tokens  ;  let  us  not  cease  to  expect  them.  This 
is  prerogative,  and  not  to  be  limited  by  our  muni¬ 
cipal  rules.  For  the  rest,  I  like  to  see  that  we  cannot 
be  bought  and  sold.  The  best  of  hospitality  and 
of  generosity  is  also  not  in  the  will,  but  in  fate. 


GIFTS. 


161 


I  find  that  I  am  not  much  to  you ;  you  do  not  need 
me  ;  you  do  not  feel  me  ;  then  am  I  thrust  out  of 
doors,  though  you  proffer  me  house  and  lands.  No 
services  are  of  any  value,  but  only  likeness.  When 
I  have  attempted  to  join  myself  to  others  by  ser¬ 
vices,  it  proved  an  intellectual  trick,  —  no  more. 
They  eat  your  service  like  apoles,  and  leave  you 
out.  But  love  them,  and  they  feel  you,  and  de¬ 
light  in  you  all  the  time. 

14* 


A  A  T  HUE. 


The  rounded  world  is  fair  to  see, 

Nine  times  folded  in  mystery  : 

Though  baffled  seers  cannot  impart 
The  secret  of  its  laboring  heart, 

Throb  thine  with  Nature’s  throbbing  breast, 
And  all  is  clear  from  east  to  west. 

Spirit  that  lurks  each  form  within 
Beckons  to  spirit  of  its  kin  ; 

Self-kindled  every  atom  glows, 

And  hints  the  future  which  it  owes. 


ESSAY  YI. 


NATURE. 


There  are  days  which  occur  in  this  climate,  at 
almost  any  season  of  the  }rear,  wherein  the  world 
reaches  its  perfection,  when  the  air,  the  heavenly 
bodies,  and  the  earth,  make  a  harmony,  as  if  nature 
would  indulge  her  offspring;  when,  in  these  bleak 
upper  sides  of  the  planet,  nothing  is  to  desire  that 
we  have  heard  of  the  happiest  latitudes,  and  we 
bask  in  the  shining  hours  of  Florida  and  Cuba ; 
when  everything  that  has  life  gives  sign  of  satisfac¬ 
tion,  and  the  cattle  that  lie  on  the  ground  seem  to 
have  great  and  tranquil  thoughts.  These  halcyons 
may  be  looked  for  with  a  little  more  assurance  in 
that  pure  October  weather,  which  we  distinguish  by 
the  name  of  the  Indian  summer.  The  day,  im¬ 
measurably  long,  sleeps  over  the  broad  hills  and 
warm  wide  fields.  To  have  lived  through  all  its 
sunny  hours,  seems  longevity  enough.  The  solitary 
places  do  not  seem  quite  lonely.  At  the  gates  of 


166 


ESSAY  VI. 


the  forest,  the  surprised  man  of  the  world  is  forced 
to  leave  his  city  estimates  of  great  and  small,  wise 
and  foolish.  The  knapsack  of  custom  falls  off  his 
hack  with  the  first  step  he  makes  into  these  pre¬ 
cincts.  Here  is  sanctity  which  shames  our  reli¬ 
gions,  and  reality  which  discredits  our  heroes. 
Here  we  find  nature  to  be  the  circumstance  which 
dwarfs  every  other  circumstance,  and  judges  like  a 
god  all  men  that  come  to  her.  We  have  crept  out 
of  our  close  and  crowded  houses  into  the  night  and 
morning,  and  we  see  what  majestic  beauties  daily 
wrap  us  in  their  bosom.  How  willingly  we  would 
escape  the  barriers  which  render  them  comparative¬ 
ly  impotent,  escape  the  sophistication  and  second 
thought,  and  suffer  nature  to  intrance  us.  The 
tempered  light  of  the  woods  is  like  a  perpetual  morn¬ 
ing,  and  is  stimulating  and  heroic.  The  anciently 
reported  spells  of  these  places  creep  on  us.  The 
stems  of  pines,  hemlocks,  and  oaks,  almost  gleam 
like  iron  on  the  excited  eye.  The  incommunicable 
trees  begin  to  persuade  us  to  live  with  them,  and 
quit  our  life  of  solemn  trifles.  Here  no  history,  or 
church,  or  state,  is  interpolated  on  the  divine  sky 
and  the  immortal  year.  How  easily  we  might  walk 
onward  into  the  opening  landscape,  absorbed  by 
new  pictures,  and  by  thoughts  fast  succeeding  each 
other,  until  by  degrees  the  recollection  of  home 
was  crowded  out  of  the  mind,  all  memory  oblit- 


NATURE. 


167 


erated  by  the  tyranny  of  the  present,  and  we  were 

* 

led  in  triumph  by  nature. 

These  enchantments  are  medicinal,  they  sober 
and  heal  us.  These  are  plain  pleasures,  kindly  and 
native  to  us.  We  come  to  our  own,  and  make 
friends  with  matter,  which  the  ambitious  chatter 
of  the  schools  would  persuade  us  to  despise.  We 
never  can  part  with  it ;  the  mind  loves  its  old  home  : 
as  water  to  our  thirst,  so  is  the  rock,  the  ground,  to 
our  eyes,  and  hands,  and  feet.  It  is  firm  water  :  it 
is  cold  flame  :  what  health,  what  affinity  !  Ever 
an  old  friend,  ever  like  a  dear  friend  and  brother, 
when  we  chat  affectedly  with  strangers,  comes  in 
this  honest  face,  and  takes  a  grave  liberty  with  us, 
and  shames  us  out  of  our  nonsense.  Cities  give 
not  the  human  senses  room  enough.  We  go  out 
daily  and  nightly  to  feed  the  eyes  on  the  horizon, 
and  require  so  much  scope,  just  as  we  need  water 
for  our  bath.  There  are  all  degrees  of  natural  in¬ 
fluence,  from  these  quarantine  powers  of  nature, 
up  to  her  dearest  and  gravest  ministrations  to  the 
imagination  and  the  soul.  There  is  the  bucket  of 
cold  water  from  the  spring,  the  wood-fire  to  which 
the  chilled  traveller  rushes  for  safety,  —  and  there 
is  the  sublime  moral  of  autumn  and  of  noon.  We 
nestle  in  nature,  and  draw  our  living  as  parasites 
from  her  roots  and  grains,  and  we  receive  glances 
from  the  heavenly  bodies,  which  call  us  to  solitude, 


168 


ESSAY  VI. 


and  foretell  the  remotest  future.  The  blue  zenith 
is  the  point  in  which  romance  and  reality  meet.  I 
think,  if  we  should  be  rapt  away  into  all  that  we 
dream  of  heaven,  and  should  converse  with  Gabriel 
and  Uriel,  the  upper  sky  would  be  all  that  would 
remain  of  our  furniture. 

It  seems  as  if  the  day  was  not  wholly  profane,  in 
which  we  have  given  heed  to  some  natural  object. 
The  fall  of  snowflakes  in  a  still  air,  preserving  to 
each  crystal  its  perfect  form ;  the  blowing  of  sleet 
over  a  wide  sheet  of  water,  and  over  plains;  the 
waving  ryefield ;  the  mimic  waving  of  acres  of 
houstonia,  whose  innumerable  florets  whiten  and 
ripple  before  the  eye  ;  the  reflections  of  trees  and 
flowers  in  glassy  lakes  ;  the  musical  steaming  odor¬ 
ous  south  wind,  which  converts  all  trees  to  wind- 
harps  ;  the  crackling  and  spurting  of  hemlock  in 
the  flames ;  or  of  pine  logs,  which  yield  glory  to 
the  walls  and  faces  in  the  sittingroom,  —  these  are 
the  music  and  pictures  of  the  most  ancient  religion. 
My  house  stands  in  low  land,  with  limited  outlook, 
and  on  the  skirt  of  the  village.  But  I  go  with  my 
friend  to  the  shore  of  our  little  river,  and  with  one 
stroke  of  the  paddle,  I  leave  the  village  politics  and 
personalities,  yes,  and  the  world  of  villages  and  per¬ 
sonalities  behind,  and  pass  into  a  delicate  realm  of 
sunset  and  moonlight,  too  bright  almost  for  spotted 
man  to  enter  without  novitiate  and  probation.  We 


NATURE. 


169 


penetrate  bodily  this  incredible  beauty :  we  dip  our 
hands  in  this  painted  element :  our  eyes  are  bathed 
in  these  lights  and  forms.  A  holiday,  a  villeg- 
giatura,  a  royal  revel,  the  proudest,  most  heart¬ 
rejoicing  festival  that  valor  and  beauty,  power  and 
taste,  ever  decked  and  enjoyed,  establishes  itself  on 
the  instant.  These  sunset  clouds,  these  delicately 
emerging  stars,  with  their  private  and  ineifable 
glances,  signify  it  and  proffer  it.  I  am  taught  the 
poorness  of  our  invention,  the  ugliness  of  towns 
and  palaces.  Art  and  luxury  have  early  learned 
that  they  must  work  as  enhancement  and  sequel  to 
this  original  beauty.  I  am  overinstructed  for  my 
return.  Henceforth  I  shall  be  hard  to  please.  I 
cannot  go  back  to  toys.  I  am  grown  expensive 
and  sophisticated.  I  can  no  longer  live  without 
elegance  :  but  a  countryman  shall  be  my  master  of 
revels.  He  who  knows  the  most,  he  who  knows 
what  sweets  and  virtues  are  in  the  ground,  the 
waters,  the  plants,  the  heavens,  and  how  to  come 
at  these  enchantments,  is  the  rich  and  royal  man. 
Only  as  far  as  the  masters  of  the  world. have  called 
in  nature  to  their  aid,  can  they  reach  the  height  of 
^magnificence.  This  is  the  meaning  of  their  hang¬ 
ing-gardens,  villas,  garden-houses,  islands,  parks, 
and  preserves,  to  back  their  faulty  personality  with 
these  strong  accessories.  I  do  not  wonder  that  the 
landed  interest  should  be  invincible  in  the  state  . 


170 


ESSAY  VI. 


with  these  dangerous  auxiliaries.  These  bribe  and 
invite  ;  not  kings,  not  palaces,  not  men,  not  women, 
but  these  tender  and  poetic  stars,  eloquent  of  secret 
promises.  We  heard  what  the  rich  man  said,  we 
knew  of  his  villa,  his  grove,  his  wine,  and  his  com¬ 
pany,  but  the  provocation  and  point  of  the  invita¬ 
tion  came  out  of  these  beguiling  stars.  In  their 
soft  glances,  I  see  what  men  strove  to  realize  in 
some  Versailles,  or  Paphos,  or  Ctesiphon.  Indeed, 
it  is  the  magical  lights  of  the  horizon,  and  the  blue 
sky  for  the  background,  which  save  all  our  works 
of  art,  which  were  otherwise  bawbles.  When  the 
rich  tax  the  poor  with  servility  and  obsequiousness, 
they  should  consider  the  effect  of  men  reputed  to 
be  the  possessors  of  nature,  on  imaginative  minds. 
Ah !  if  the  rich  were  rich  as  the  poor  fancy  riches! 
A  boy  hears  a  military  band  play  on  the  field  at 
night,  and  he  has  kings  and  queens,  and  famous 
chivalry  palpably  before  him.  He  hears  the  echoes 
of  a  horn  in  a  hill  country,  in  the  Notch  Mountains, 
for  example,  which  converts  the  mountains  into  an 
AEolian  harp,  and  this  supernatural  tiralira  restores 
to  him  the  Dorian  mythology,  Apollo,  Diana,  and 
all  divine  hunters  and  huntresses.  Can  a  musical 
note  be  so  lofty,  so  haughtily  beautiful  !  To  the 
poor  young  poet,  thus  fabulous  is  his  picture  of 
society  ;  he  is  loyal ;  he  respects  the  rich  ;  they  are 
rich  for  the  sake  of  his  imagination  ;  how  poor  his 


NATURE.  171 

fancy  would  be,  if  they  were  not  rich  !  That  they 
have  some  high-fenced  grove,  which  they  call  a 
park ;  that  they  live  in  larger  and  better-garnished 
saloons  than  he  has  visited,  and  go  in  coaches,  keep¬ 
ing  only  the  society  of  the  elegant,  to  watering- 
places,  and  to  distant  cities,  are  the  groundwork 
from  which  he  has  delineated  estates  of  romance, 
compared  with  which  their  actual  possessions  are 
shanties  and  paddocks.  The  muse  herself  betrays 
her  son,  and  enhances  the  gifts  of  wealth  and  well¬ 
born  beauty,  by  a  radiation  out  of  the  air,  and 
clouds,  and  forests  that  skirt  the  road,  —  a  certain 
haughty  favor,  as  if  from  patrician  genii  to  patri¬ 
cians,  a  kind  of  aristocracy  in  nature,  a  prince  of 
the  power  of  the  air. 

The  moral  sensibility  which  makes  Edens  and 
Tempes  so  easily,  may  not  be  always  found,  but 
the  material  landscape  is  never  far  off.  We  can 
find  these  enchantments  without  visiting  the  Como 
Lake,  or  the  Madeira  Islands.  We  exaggerate  the 
praises  of  local  scenery.  In  every  landscape,  the 
point  of  astonishment  is  the  meeting  of  the  sky  and 
the  earth,  and  that  is  seen  from  the  first  hillock  as 
well  as  from  the  top  of  the  Alleghanies.  The  stars 
at  night  stoop  down  over  the  brownest,  homeliest 
common,  with  all  the  spiritual  magnificence  which 
they  shed  on  the  Campagna,  or  on  the  marble 
desarts  of  Egypt.  The  uprolled  clouds  and  the 


172 


ESSAY  VI. 


colors  of  morning  and  evening,  will  transfigure 
maples  and  alders.  The  difference  between  land¬ 
scape  and  landscape  is  small,  but  there  is  great 
difference  in  the  beholders.  There  is  nothing  so 
wonderful  in  any  particular  landscape,  as  the  neces¬ 
sity  of  being  beautiful  under  which  every  landscape 
lies.  Nature  cannot  be  surprised  in  undress.  Beau¬ 
ty  breaks  in  everywhere. 

But  it  is  very  easy  to  outrun  the  sympathy  of 
readers  on  this  topic,  which  schoolmen  called  natu - 
ra  naturata ,  or  nature  passive.  One  can  hardly 
speak  directly  of  it  without  excess.  It  is  as  easy 
to  broach  in  mixed  companies  what  is  called  “the 
subject  of  religion.”  A  susceptible  person  does  not 
like  to  indulge  his  tastes  in  this  kind,  without  the 
apology  of  some  trivial  necessity  :  he  goes  to  see  a 
wood-lot,  or  to  look  at  the  crops,  or  to  fetch  a  plant 
or  a  mineral  from  a  remote  locality,  or  he  carries 
a  fowling-piece,  or  a  fishing-rod.  I  suppose  this 
shame  must  have  a  good  reason.  A  ^dilettantism  in 
nature  is  barren  and  unworthy.  The  fop  of  fields 
is  no  better  than  his  brother  of  Broadway.  Men 
are  naturally  hunters  and  inquisitive  of  wood-craft, 
and  I  suppose  that  such  a  gazetteer  as  wood-cutters 
and  Indians  should  furnish  facts  for,  would  take 
place  in  the  most  sumptuous  drawing-rooms  of  all 
the  “Wreaths”  and  “Flora’s  chaplets”  of  the 
bookshops ;  yet  ordinarily,  whether  we  are  too 


NATURE. 


173 


clumsy  for  so  subtle  a  topic,  or  from  whatever 
cause,  as  soon  as  men  begin  to  write  on  nature, 
they  fall  into  euphuism.  Frivolity  is  a  most  unfit 
tribute  to  Pan,  who  ought  to  be  represented  in  the 
mythology  as  the  most  continent  of  gods.  I  would 
not  be  frivolous  before  the  admirable  reserve  and 
prudence  of  time,  yet  I  cannot  renounce  the  right 
of  returning  often  to  this  old  topic.  The  multitude 
of  false  churches  accredits  the  true  religion.  Litera¬ 
ture,  poetry,  science,  are  the  homage  of  man  to  this 
unfathomed  secret,  concerning  which  no  sane  man 
can  affect  an  indifference  or  incuriosity.  Nature  is 
loved  by  what  is  best  in  us.  It  is  loved  as  the  city 
of  God,  although,  or  rather  because  there  is  no  citi¬ 
zen.  The  sunset  is  unlike  anything  that  is  under¬ 
neath  it  :  it  wants  men.  And  the  beauty  of  nature 
must  always  seem  unreal  and  mocking,  until  the 
landscape  has  human  figures,  that  are  as  good  as 
itself.  If  there  were  good  men,  there  would  never 
be  this  rapture  in  nature.  If  the  king  is  in  the 
palace,  nobody  looks  at  the  walls.  It  is  when  he 
is  gone,  and  the  house  is  filled  with  grooms  and 
gazers,  that  we  turn  from  the  people,  to  find  relief 
in  the  majestic  men  that  are  suggested  by  the  pic¬ 
tures  and  the  architecture.  The  critics  who  com¬ 
plain  of  the  sickly  separation  of  the  beauty  of 
nature  from  the  thing  to  be  done,  must  consider 
that  our  hunting  of  the  picturesque  is  inseparable 


171 


ESSAY  Vi. 


from  our  protest  against  false  society.  Man  is 
fallen  ;  nature  is  erect,  and  serves  as  a  differential 
thermometer,  detecting  the  presence  or  absence  of 
the  divine  sentiment  in  man.  By  fault  of  our  dul- 
ness  and  selfishness,  we  are  looking  up  to  nature, 
but  when  we  are  convalescent,  nature  will  look 
up  to  us.  We  see  the  foaming  brook  with  com¬ 
punction  :  if  our  own  life  flowed  with  the  right 
energy,  we  should  shame  the  brook.  The  stream 
of  zeal  sparkles  with  real  fire,  and  not  with  reflex 
rays  of  sun  and  moon.  Nature  may  be  as  selfishly 
studied  as  trade.  Astronomy  to  the  selfish  becomes 
astrology  ;  psychology,  mesmerism  (with  intent  to 
show  where  our  spoons  are  gone);  and  anato¬ 
my  and  physiology  become  phrenology  and  pal¬ 
mistry. 

But  taking  timely  warning,  and  leaving  many 
things  unsaid  on  this  topic,  let  us  not  longer  omit 
our  homage  to  the  Efficient  Nature.  2 -in, turn,  nata - 
rans ,  the  quick  cause,  before  which  all  forms  flee 
as  the  driven  snows,  itself  secret,  its  works  driven 
before  it  in  flocks  and  multitudes,  (as  the  ancients 
represented  nature  by  Proteus,  a  shepherd,)  and  in 
undescribable  variety.  It  publishes  itself  in  crea¬ 
tures,  reaching  from  particles  and  spicula,  through 
transformation  on  transformation  to  the  highest 
symmetries,  arriving  at  consummate  results  without 
a  shock  or  a  leap.  A  little  heat,  that  is,  a  little 


NATURE. 


It**  r* 

i  o 

motion;  is  all  that  differences  the  bald,  dazzling 
white,  and  deadly  cold  poles  of  the  earth  from  the 
prolific  tropical  climates.  All  changes  pass  without 
violence,  by  reason  of  the  two  caixlhiai-co^-di-tions 
of  boundless  space  and  boundless  time.  Geology 
has  initiated^  us  into, the  secularity  of  nature,  and 
taught  qs  to  disuse  our  dame-school  measures,  and 
exchange  our  Mosaic  and  Ptolemaic  schemes  for 
her  large  style.  We  knew  nothing  rightly,  for 
want  of  perspective.  Now  we  learn  what  patient 
periods  must  round  themselves  before  the  rock  is 
formed,  then  before  the  rock  is  broken,  and  the 
first  lichen  race  has  disintegrated  the  thinnest  ex¬ 
ternal  plate  into  soil,  and  opened  the  door  for  the 
remote  Flora,  Fauna,  Ceres,  and  Pomona,  to  come 
in.  How  far  off  yet  is  the  trilobite  !  how  far  the 
quadruped !  how  inconceivably  remote  is  man  ! 
All  duly  arrive,  and  then  race  after  race  of  men.  It 
is  a  long  way  from  granite  to  the  oyster  ;  farther 
yet  to  Plato,  and  the  preaching  of  the  immortality 
of  the  soul.  Yet  all  must  come,  as  surely  as  the 
first  atom  has  two  sides. 

Motion  or  change,  and  identity  or  rest,  are  the 
first  andsecond  secretsPof1  nature  :  Motion  and 
Rest.  The  whole  code  of  her  laws  may  be  written 
on  the  thumbnail,  or  the  signet  of  a  ring.  The 
whirling  bubble  on  the  surface  of  a  brook,  admits 
us  to  the  secret  of  the  mechanics  of  the  sky.  Every 


176 


ESSAY  VI. 


shell  on  the  beach  is  a  key  to  it.  A  little  water 
made  to  rotate  in  a  cup  explains  the  formation  of 
the  simpler  shells ;  the  addition  of  matter  from 
year  to  year,  arrives  at  last  at  the  most  complex 
forms ;  and  yet  so  poor  is  nature  with  all  her  craft, 
that,  from  the  beginning  to  the-  end  of  the  universe, 
she  has  but  one  stuff,  — but  one  stuff  with  its  two 
ends,  to  serve  up  all  her  dream-like  variety.  Com¬ 
pound  it  how  she  will,  star,  sand,  fire,  water,  tree, 
man,  it  is  still  one  stuff,  and  betrays  the  same  prop¬ 
erties. 

Nature  is  always  consistent,  though  she  feigns 
to  contravene  her  own  laws.  She  keeps  her 
laws,  and  seems  to  transcend  them.  She  arms  and 
equips  an  animal  to  find  its  place  and  living  in  the 
earth,  and,  at  the  same  time,  she  arms  and  equips 
another  animal  to  destroy  it.  Space  exists  to  divide 
creatures;  but  by  clothing  the  sides  of  a  bird  with 
a  few  feathers,  she  gives  him  a  petty  omnipresence. 
The  direction  is  forever  onward,  but  the  artist  still 
goes  back  for  materials,  and  begins  again  with  the 
first  elements  on  the  most  ad  vanced  stage  :  other¬ 
wise,  all  goes  to  ruin.  If  we  look  at  her  work,  we 
seem  to  catch  a  glance  of  a  system  in  transition. 
Plants  are  the  young  of  the  world,  vessels  of  health 
and  vigor ;  but  they  grope  ever  upward  towards 
consciousness  ;  the  trees  are  imperfect  men,  and 
seem  to  bemoan  their  imprisonment,  rooted  in  *he 


NATURE. 


177 


ground.  The  animal  is  the  novice  and  probationer 
of  a  more  advanced  order.  The  men,  though 
young,  having  tasted  the  first  drop  from  the  cup  ot 
thought,  are  already  dissipated :  the  maples  and 
ferns  are  still  uncorrupt ;  yet  no  doubt,  when  they 
come  to  consciousness,  they  too  will  curse  and 
swear.  Flowers  so  strictly  belong  to  youth,  that 
we  adult  men  soon  come  to  feel,  that  their  beauti¬ 
ful  generations  concern  not  us :  we  have  had  our 
day  ;  now  let  the  children  have  theirs.  The  flow¬ 
ers  jilt  us,  and  we  are  old  bachelors  with  our  ridic¬ 
ulous  tenderness. 

Things  are  so  strictly  related,  that  according 
to  the  skill  of  the  eye,  from  any  one  object  the 
parts  and  properties  of  any  other  may  be  predicted. 
If  we  had  eyes  to  see  it,  a  bit  of  stone  from  the 
city  wall  would  certify  us  of  the  necessity  that 
man  must  exist,  as  readily  as  the  city.  That  iden¬ 
tity  makes  us  all  one,  and  reduces  to  nothing  great 
intervals  on  our  customary  scale.  We  talk  of  devia¬ 
tions  from  natural  life,  as  if  artificial  life  were  not 
also  natural.  The  smoothest  curled  courtier  in  the 
boudoirs  of  a  palace  has  an  animal  nature,  rude  and 
aboriginal  as  a  white  bear,  omnipotent  to  its  own 
ends,  and  is  directly  related,  there  amid  essences 
and  billetsdoux,  to  Himmaleh  mountain-chains,  and 
the  axis  of  the  globe.  If  we  consider  how  much 
we  are  nature’s,  we  need  not  be  superstitious  about 


178 


ESSAY  VI. 


towns,  as  if  that  terrific  or  benefic  force  did  not 
find  us  there  also,  and  fashion  cities.  Nature,  who 
made  the  mason,  made  the  house.  We  may  easily 
hear  too  much  of  rural  influences.  The  cool  dis¬ 
engaged  air  of  natural  objects,  makes  them  enviable 
to  us,  chafed  and  irritable  creatures  with  red  faces, 
and  we  think  we  shall  be  as  grand  as  they,  if  we 
camp  out  and  eat  roots ;  but  let  us  be  men  instead 
of  woodchucks,  and  the  oak  and  the  elm  shall 
gladly  serve  us,  though  we  sit  in  chairs  of  ivory  on 
carpets  of  silk. 

This  guiding  identity  runs  through  all  the  sur¬ 
prises  and  contrasts  of  the  piece,  and  characterizes 
every  law.  J\fan_carries  the  \yoxliiijx hi.s  head,  Jiia. 
whole  astronomy  and  chemistry  suspended  in  a 
ThtnTght”Hecause  the  history  of  nature  is  charac¬ 
tered  in  his  brain,  therefore  is  he  the  prophet  and 
discoverer  of  her  secrets.  Every  known  fact  in 
natural  science  was  divined  by  the  presentiment 
of  somebody,  before  it  was  actually  verified.  A 
man  does  not  tie  his  shoe  without  recognizing  laws 
which  bind  the  farthest  regions  of  nature  :  moon, 
plant,  gas,  crystal,  are  concrete  geometry  and  num¬ 
bers.  Common  sense  knows  its  own,  and  recog¬ 
nizes  the  fact  at  first  sight  in  chemical  experiment. 
The  common  sense  of  Franklin,  Dalton,  Davy,  and 
Black,  is  the  same  common  sense  which  made  the 
arrangements  which  now  it  discovers. 


NATURE. 


179 


If  the  identity  expresses  organized  rest,  the  coun¬ 
ter  action  runs  also  into  organization.  The  astron¬ 
omers  said,  Gfive  us  matter,  and  a  little  motion, 
and  we  will  construct  the  universe.  It  is  not 
enough  that  we  should  have  matter,  we  must  also 
have  a  single  impulse,  one  shove  to  launch  the 
mass,  and  generate  the  harmony  of  the  centrifugal 
and  centripetal  forces.  Once  heave  the  ball  from 
the  harmTaflEhtrep-can  show  how  all  this  mighty 
order  grew.’  —  ‘A  very  unreasonable  postulate,’ 
said  tiie  metaphysicians,  1  and  a  plain  begging  of 
the  question.  Could  you  not  prevail  to  know  the 
genesis  of  projection,  as  well  as  the  continuation 
of  it  ?  ’  Nature,  meanwhile,  had  not  waited  for 
the  discussion,  but,  right  or  wrong,  bestowed  the 
impulse,  and  the  balls  rolled.  It  was  no  great 
affair,  a  mere  push,  but  the  astronomers  were  right 
in  making  much  of  it,  for  there  is  no  end  to  the 
consequences  of  the  act.  That  famous  aboriginal 
push  propagates  itself  through  all  the  balls  of  the 
system,  and  through  every  atom  of  every  hall, 
through  all  the  races  of  creatures,  and  through  the 
history  and  performances  of  every  individual.  Ex¬ 
aggeration  is  in  the  course  of  things.  Nature  sends 
no  creature,  no  man  into  the  world,  without  adding 
a  small  excess  of  his  proper  quality.  Given  the 
planet,  it  is  still  necessary  to  add  the  impulse ;  so, 
to  every  creature  nature  added  a  little  violence  of 


ISO 


ESSAY  VI. 


direction  in  its  proper  path,  a  shove  to  put  it  on  its 
way ;  in  every  instance,  a  slight  generosity,  a  drop 
too  much.  Without  electricity  the  air  would  rot, 
and  without  this  violence  of  direction,  which  men 
and  women  have,  without  a  spice  of  bigot  and 
fanatic,  no  excitement,  no  efficiency.  We  aim 
above  the  mark,  to  hit  the  mark.  Every  act  hath 
some  falsehood  of  exaggeration  in  it.  And  when 
now  and  then  comes  along  some  sad,  sharp-eyed 
man,  who  sees  how  paltry  a  game  is  played,  and 
refuses  to  play,  but  blabs  the  secret;  —  how  then? 
is  the  bird  flown  ?  O  no,  the  wary  Nature  sends  a 
new  troop  of  fairer  forms,  of  lordlier  youths,  with 
a  little  more  excess  of  direction  to  hold  them  fast 
to  their  several  aim ;  makes  them  a  little  wrong¬ 
headed  in  that  direction  in  which  they  are  Tightest, 
and  on  goes  the  game  again  with  new  whirl,  for  a 
generation  or  two  more.  The  child  with  his  sweet 
pranks,  the  fool  of  his  senses,  commanded  by  every 
sight  and  sound,  without  any  power  to  compare 
and  rank  his  sensations,  abandoned  to  a  whistle  or 
a  painted  chip,  to  a  lead  dragoon,  or  a  gingerbread- 
dog,  individualizing  everything,  generalizing  noth¬ 
ing,  delighted  with  every  new  thing,  lies  down  at 
night  overpowered  by  the  fatigue,  which  this  day  of 
continual  pretty  madness  has  incurred.  But  Nature 
has  answered  her  purpose  with  the  curly,  dimpled 
hmatic.  She  has  tasked  every  facuhy,  and  has 


NATURE. 


181 


secured  the  symmetrical  growth  of  the  bodily 
frame,  by  all  these  attitudes  and  exertions,  —  an 
end  of  the  first  importance,  which  could  not  be 
trusted  to  any  care  less  perfect  than  her  own. 
This  glitter,  this  opaline  lustre  plays  round  the  top 
of  every  toy  to  his  eye,  to  insure  his  fidelity,  and 
he  is  deceived  to  his  good.  We  are  made  alive  and 
kept  alive  by  the  same  arts.  Let  the  stoics  say 
what  they  please,  we  do  not  eat  for  the  good  of 
living,  but  because  the  meat  is  savory  and  the  ap¬ 
petite  is  keen.  The  vegetable  life  does  not  content 
itself  with  casting  from  the  flower  or  the  tree  a 
single  seed,  but  it  fills  the  air  and  earth  with  a 
prodigality  of  seeds,  that,  if  thousands  perish,  thou¬ 
sands  may  plant  themselves,  that  hundreds  may 
come  up,  that  tens  may  live  to  maturity,  that,  at 
least,  one  may  replace  the  parent.  All  things  be¬ 
tray  the  same  calculated  profusion.  The  excess  of 
fear  with  which  the  animal  frame  is  hedged  round, 
shrinking  from  cold,  starting  at  sight  of  a  snake,  or 
at  a  sudden  noise,  protects  us,  through  a  multitude 
of  groundless  alarms,  from  some  one  real  danger  at 
last.  The  lover  seeks  in  marriage  his  private  felici¬ 
ty  and  perfection,  with  no  prospective  end  ;  and 
nature  hides  in  his  happiness  her  own  end,  namely, 
progeny,  or  the  perpetuity  of  the  race. 

But  the  craft  with  which  the  world  is  made,  runs 
also  into  the  mind  and  character  of  men.  No  man 


182 


ESSAY  VI. 


is  quite  sane  ;  each  has  a  vein  of  folly  in  his  compo¬ 
sition,  a  slight  determination  of  blood  to  the  head, 
to  make  sure  of  holding  him  hard  to  some  one  point 
which  nature  had  taken  to  heart.  Great  causes 
are  never  tried  on  their  merits  ;  but  the  cause  is 
reduced  to  particulars  to  suit  the  size  of  the  parti¬ 
sans,  and  the  contention  is  ever  hottest  on  minor 
matters.  Not  less  remarkable  is  the  overfaith  of 
each  man  in  the  importance  of  what  he  has  to  do 
or  say.  The  poet,  the  prophet,  has  a  higher  value 
for  what  he  utters  than  any  hearer,  and  therefore  it 
gets  spoken.  The  strong,  self-complacent  Luther 
declares  with  an  emphasis-,  not  to  be  mistaken,  that 
“  God  himself  cannot  do  without  wise  men.”  Ja¬ 
cob  Behmen  and  George  Fox  betray  their  egotism 
in  the  pertinacity  of  their  controversial  tracts,  and 
James  Naylor  once  suffered  himself  to  be  wor¬ 
shipped  as  the  Christ.  Each  prophet  comes  presently 
to  identify  himself  with  his  thought,  and  to  esteem 
his  hat  and  shoes  sacred.  However  this  may  dis¬ 
credit  such  persons  with  the  judicious,  it  helps 
them  with  the  people,  as  it  gives  heat,  pungency, 
and  publicity  to  their  words.  A  similar  experience 
is  not  infrequent  in  private  life.  Each  young  and 
ardent  person  writes  a  diary,  in  which,  when  the 
hours  of  prayer  and  penitence  arrive,  he  inscribes 
his  soul.  The  pages  thus  written  are,  to  him, 
burning  and  fragrant  :  he  reads  them  on  his  knees 


NATURE. 


183 


by  midnight  and  by  the  morning  star;  he  wets 
them  with  his  tears :  they  are  sacred ;  too  good  for 
the  world,  and  hardly  yet  to  be  shown  to  the  dear¬ 
est  friend.  This  is  the  man-child  that  is  born  to 
the  soul,  and  her  life  still  circulates  in  the  babe. 
The  umbilical  cord  has  not  yet  been  cut.  After 
some  time  has  elapsed,  he  begins  to  wish  to  admit 
his  friend  to  this  hallowed  experience,  and  with  hes¬ 
itation,  yet  with  firmness,  exposes  the  pages  to  his 
eye.  Will  they  not  burn  his  eyes  ?  The  friend  coldly 
turns  them  over,  and  passes  from  the  writing  to 
conversation,  with  easy'transition,  which  strikes  the 
other  party  with  astonishment  and  vexation.  He 
cannot  suspect  the  writing  itself.  Days  and  nights 
of  fervid  life,  of  communion  with  angels  of  darkness 
and  of  light,  have  engraved  their  shadowy  characters 
on  that  tear-stained  book.  He  suspects  the  intelli¬ 
gence  or  the  heart  of  his  friend.  Is  there  then  no 
friend  ?  He  cannot  yet  credit  that  one  may  have 
impressive  experience,  and  yet  may  not  know  how 
to  put  his  private  fact  into  literature  ;  and  perhaps 
the  discovery  that  wisdom  has  other  tongues  and 
ministers  than  we,  that  though  we  should  hold 
our  peace,  the  truth  would  not  the  less  be  spoken, 
might  check  injuriously  the  flames  of  our  zeal.  A 
man  can  only  speak,  so  long  as  he  does  not  feel  his 
speech  to  be  partial  and  inadequate.  It  is  partial, 
but  he  does  not  see  it  to  be  so,  whilst  he  utters  it. 


184 


ESSAY  VI. 


As  soon  as  he  is  released  from  the  instinctive  and 
particular,  and  sees  its  partiality,  he  shuts  his 
mouth  in  disgust.  For,  no  man  can  write  any¬ 
thing,  who  does  not  think  that  what  he  writes  is 
for  the  time  the  history  of  the  world  j  or  do  any¬ 
thing  well,  who  does  not  esteem  his  work  to  be  of 
importance.  My  work  may  be  of  none,  but  I 
must  not  think  it  of  none,  or  I  shall  not  do  it  with 
impunity. 

In  like  manner,  there  is  throughout  nature  some¬ 
thing  mocking,  something  that  leads  us  on  and  on, 
but  arrives  nowhere,  keeps  no  faith  with  us.  All 
promise  outruns  the  performance.  We  live  in  a 
system  of  approximations.  Every  end  is  prospec¬ 
tive  of  some  other  end,  which  is  also  temporary  ; 
a  round  and  final  success  nowhere.  We  are  en¬ 
camped  in  nature,  not  domesticated.  Hunger  and 
thirst  lead  us  on  to  eat  and  to  drink  ;  but  bread 
and  wine,  mix  and  cook  them  how  you  will,  leave 
us  hungry  and  thirsty,  after  the  stomach  is  full. 
It  is  the  same  with  all  our  arts  and  perform¬ 
ances.  Our  music,  our  poetry,  our  language  itself 
are  not  satisfactions,  but  suggestions.  .The  hunger 
for  weak  h/w  h  1  chre  duces  the  planet  to  a  garden, 
fools  the  eager  pursuer.  What  is  the  end  sought  ? 
Plainly  to  secure  the  ends  of  good  sense  and  beau¬ 
ty,  from  the  intrusion  of  deformity  or  vulgarity  of 
any  kind.  But  what  an  operose  method !  What 


NATURE. 


185 


a  train  of  means  to  secure  a  little  conversation  ! 
This  palace  of  brick  and  stone,  these  servants,  this 
kitchen,  these  stables,  horses  and  equipage,  this 
bank-stock,  and  file  of  mortgages ;  trade  to  all  the 
world,  country-house  and  cottage  by  the  waterside, 
all  for  a  little  conversation,  high,  clear,  and  spirit¬ 
ual  !  Could  it  not  be  had  as  well  by  beggars  on  the 
highway  ?  No,  all  these  things  came  from  succes¬ 
sive  efforts  of  these  beggars  to  remove  friction  from 
the  wheels  of  life,  and  give  opportunity.  Conver¬ 
sation,  character,  were  the  avowed  ends;  wealth 
was  good  as  it  appeased  the  animal  cravings,  cured 
the  smoky  chimney,  silenced  the  creaking  door, 
brought  friends  together  in  a  warm  and  quiet  room, 
and  kept  the  children  and  the  dinner-table  in  a  dif¬ 
ferent  apartment.  Thought,  virtue,  beauty,  were 
the  ends ;  but  it  was  known  that  men  of  thought 
and  virtue  sometimes  had  the  headache,  or  wet 
feet,  or  could  lose 'good  time  whilst  the  room  was 
getting  warm  in  winter  days.  Unluckily,  in  the 
exertions  necessary  to  remove  these  inconveniences, 
the  main  attention  has  been  diverted  to  this  object ; 
the  old  aims  have  been  lost  sight  of,  and  to  remove 
friction  has  come  to  be  the  end.  That  is  the  ridi¬ 
cule  of  rich  men,  and  Boston,  London,  Vienna,  and 
now  the  governments  generally  of  the  world,  are 
cities  and  governments  of  the  rich,  and  the  masses 
are  not  men,  but  poor  men ,  that  is,  men  who  would 

16  * 

c 


X 

186 


ESSAY  VI. 


be  rich ;  this  is  the  ridicule  of  the  class,  that  they 
arrive  with  pains  and  sweat  and  fury  nowhere  ; 
when  all  is  done,  it  is  for  nothing.  They  are  like 
one  who  has  interrupted  the  conversation  of  a 
company  to  make  his  speech,  and  now  has  forgot¬ 
ten  what  he  went  to  say.  The  appearance  strikes 
the  eye  everywhere  of  an  aimless  society,  of  aim¬ 
less  nations.  Were  the  ends  of  nature  so  great 
and  cogent,  as  to  exact  this  immense  sacrifice  of 
men  ? 

Q,uite  analogous  to  the  deceits  in  life,  there  is, 
as  might  be  expected,  a  similar  effect  on  the  eye 
from  the  face  of  external  nature.  There  is  in 
woods  and  waters  a  certain  enticement  and  flattery, 
together  with  a  failure  to  yield  a  present  satisfac¬ 
tion.  This  disappointment  is  felt  in  every  land¬ 
scape.  I  have  seen  the  softness  and  beauty  of  the 
summer-clouds  floating  feathery  overhead,  enjoying, 
as  it  seemed,  their  height  and  privilege  of  motion, 
whilst  yet  they  appeared  not  so  much  the  drapery 
of  this  place  and  hour,  as  forelooking  to  some 
pavilions  and  gardens  of  festivity  beyond.  It  is  an 
odd  jealousy :  but  the  poet  finds  himself  not  near 
enough  to  his  object.  The  pine-tree,  the  river,  the 
bank  of  flowers  before  him,  does  not  seem  to  be 
nature.  Nature  is  still  elsewhere.  This  or  this  is 
but  outskirt  and  far-off  reflection  and  echo  of  the 
triumph  that  has  passed  by,  and  is  now  at  its 


NATURE. 


187 


glancing  splendor  and  heyday,  perchance  in  the 
neighboring  fields,  or,  if  you  stand  in  the  field,  then 
in  the  adjacent  woods.  The  present  object  shall 
give  you  this  sense  of  stillness  that  follows  a  pa¬ 
geant  which  has  just  gone  by.  What  splendid  dis¬ 
tance,  what  recesses  of  ineffable  pomp  and  loveliness 
in  the  sunset  !  But  who  can  go  where  they  are, 
or  lay  his  hand  or  plant  his  foot  thereon  ?  Off  they 
fall  from  the  round  world  forever  and  ever.  It  is 
the  same  among  the  men  and  women,  as  among 
the  silent  trees  ;  always  a  referred  existence,  an 
absence,  never  a  presence  and  satisfaction.  Is  it, 
that  beauty  can  never  be  grasped  ?  in  persons  and 
in  landscape  is  equally  inaccessible  ?  The  accepted 
and  betrothed  lover  has  lost  the  wildest  charm  of 
his  maiden  in  her  acceptance  of  him.  She  was 
heaven  whilst  he  pursued  her  as  a  star :  she  cannot 
be  heaven,  if  she  stoops  to  such  a  one  as  he. 

What  shall  we  say  of  this  omnipresent  appear¬ 
ance  of  that  first  projectile  impulse,  of  this  flattery 
and  balking  of  so  many  well-meaning  creatures  ? 
Must  we  not  suppose  somewhere  in  the  universe 
a  slight  treachery  and  derision  ?  Are  we  not  en¬ 
gaged  to  a  serious  resentment  of  this  use  that  is 
made  of  us  ?  Are  we  tickled  trout,  and  fools  of 
nature  ?  One  look  at  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth 
lays  all  petulance  at  rest,  and  soothes  us  to  wiser 
convictions.  To  the  intelligent,  nature  converts 


188 


ESSAY  VI. 


itself  into  a  vast  promise,  and  will  not  be  rashly 
explained.  Her  secret  is  untold.  Many  and  many 
an  (Edipus  arrives  :  he  has  the  whole  mystery  teem¬ 
ing  in  his  brain.  Alas  !  the  same  sorcery  has  spoiled 
his  skill  ;  no  syllable  can  he  shape  on  his  lips. 
Her  mighty  orbit  vaults  like  the  fresh  rainbow  into 
the  deep,  but  no  archangel’s  wing  was  yet  strong 
enough  to  follow  it,  and  report  of  the  return  of  the 
curve.  But  it  also  appears,  that  our  actions  are 
seconded  and  disposed  to  greater  conclusions  than 
we  designed.  We  are  escorted  on  every  hand 
through  life  by  spiritual  agents,  and  a  beneficent 
purpose  lies  in  wait  for  us.  We  cannot  bandy 
words  with  nature,  or  deal  with  her  as  we  deal 
with  persons.  If  we  measure  our  individual  forces 
against  hers,  we  may  easily  feel  as  if  we  were  the 
sport  of  an  insuperable  destiny.  But  if,  instead  of 
identifying  ourselves  with  the  work,  we  feel  that 
the  soul  of  the  workman  streams  through  us,  we 
shall  find  the  peace  of  the  morning  dwelling  first 
in  our  hearts.,  and  the  fathomless  powers  of  gravity 
and  chemistry,  and,  over  them,  of  life,  preexisting 
within  us  in  their  highest  form. 

The  uneasiness  which  the  thought  of  our  help¬ 
lessness  in  the  chain  of  causes  occasions  us,  results 
from  looking  too  much  at  one  condition  of  nature, 
namely,  Motion.  But  the  drag  is  never  taken 
from  the  wheel.  Wherever  the  impulse  exceeds 


NATURE. 


189 


the  Rest  or  Identity  insinuates  its  compensation. 
All  over  the  wide  fields  of  earth  grows  the  pru¬ 
nella  or  self-heal.  After  every  foolish  day  we  sleep 
off  the  fumes  and  furies  of  its  hours  ;  and  though 
we  are  always  engaged  with  particulars,  and  often 
enslaved  to  them,  we  bring  with  us  to  every  exper¬ 
iment  the  innate  universal  laws.  These,  while 
they  exist  in  the  mind  as  ideas,  stand  around  us  in 
nature  forever  embodied,  a  present  sanity  to  expose 
and  cure  the  insanity  of  men.  Our  servitude  to 
particulars  betrays  us  into  a  hundred  foolish  expecta¬ 
tions.  We  anticipate  a  new  era  from  the  invention 
of  a  locomotive,  or  a  balloon ;  the  new  engine 
brings  with  it  the  old  checks.  They  say  that  by 
electro-magnetism,  your  salad  shall  be  grown  from 
the  seed,  whilst  your  fowl  is  roasting  for  dinner  :  it 
is  a  symbol  of  our  modern  aims  and  endeavors,  — 
of  our  condensation  and  acceleration  of  objects : 
but  nothing  is  gained :  nature  cannot  be  cheated  : 
man’s  life  is  but  seventy  salads  long,  grow  they 
swift  or  grow  they  slow.  In  these  checks  and  im¬ 
possibilities,  however,  we  find  our  advantage,  not 
less  than  in  the  impulses.  Let  the  victory  fall 
where  it  will,  we  are  on  that  side.  And  the  knowl¬ 
edge  that  we  traverse  the  whole  scale  of  being, 
from  the  centre  to  the  poles  of  nature,  and  have 
some  stake  in  every  possibility,  lends  that  sublime 
lustre  to  death,  which  philosophy  and  religion  have 


190 


ESSAY  VI. 


too  outwardly  and  literally  striven  to  express  in 
the  popular  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 
The  reality  is  more  excellent  than  the  ^port. 
Here  is  no  ruin,  no  discontinuity,  no  spent  ball. 
The  divine  circulations  never  rest  nor  linger.  Na¬ 
ture  is  the  incarnation  of  a  thought,  and  turns  to  a 
thought  again,  as  ice  becomes  water  and  gas.  The 
world  is  mind  precipitated,  and  the  volatile  essence 
is  forever  escaping  again  into  the  state  of  free 
thought.  Hence  the  virtue  and  pungency  of  the 
influence  on  the  mind,  of  natural  objects,  whether 
inorganic  or  organized.  Man  imprisoned,  man 
crystallized,  man  vegetative,  speaks  to  man  imper¬ 
sonated.  That  power  which  does  not  respect 
quantity,  which  makes  the  whole  and  the  particle 
its  equal  channel,  delegates  its  smile  to  the  morn¬ 
ing,  and  distils  its  essence  into  every  drop  of  rain. 
Every  moment  instructs,  and  every  object :  for  wis¬ 
dom  is  infused  into  every  form.  It  has  been  poured 
into  us  as  blood;  it  convulsed  us  as  pain;  it  slid 
into  us  as  pleasure  ;  it  enveloped  us  in  dull,  melan¬ 
choly  days,  or  in  days  of  cheerful  labor;  we  did  not 
guess  its  essence,  until  after  a  long  time. 


POLITICS 


Gold  and  iron  are  good 
To  buy  iron  and  gold  ; 

All  earth’s  fleece  and  food 
For  their  like  are  sold- 
Boded  Merlin  wise, 

Proved  Napoleon  great,  — 

Nor  kind  nor  coinage  buy  a 
Aught  above  its  rate. 

Fear,  Craft,  and  Avarice 
Cannot  rear  a  State. 

Out  of  dust  to  build 
"What  is  more  than  dust,  — 

Walls  Amphion  piled 
Phoebus  stablish  must. 

When  the  Muses  nine 
With  the  Virtues  meet, 

Find  to  their  design 
An  Atlantic  seat, 

By  green  orchard  boughs 
Fended  from  the  heat, 

Where  the  statesman  ploughs 
Furrow  for  the  wheat ; 

When  the  Church  is  social  worth, 
When  the  state-house  is  the  hearth, 
Then  the  perfect  State  is  come. 

The  republican  at  home. 


ESSAY  VII. 


POLITICS. 


In  dealing  with  the  State,  we  ought  to  remem¬ 
ber  that  its  institutions  are  not  aboriginal,  though 
they  existed  before  we  were  born  :  that  they  are  not 
superior  to  the  citizen  :  that  every  one  of  them  was 
once  the  act  of  a  single  man :  every  law  and  usage 
was  a  man’s  expedient  to  meet  a  particular  case : 
that  they  all  are  imitable,  all  alterable ;  we  may 
make  as  good  ;  we  may  make  better.  Society  is  an 
illusion  to  the  young  citizen.  It  lies  before  him  in 
rigid  repose,  with  certain  names,  men,  and  institu¬ 
tions,  rooted  like  oak-trees  to  the  centre,  round  which 
all  arrange  themselves  the  best  they  can.  But  the 
old  statesman  knows  that  society  is  fluid  ;  there  are 
no  such  roots  and  centres ;  but  any  particle  may 
suddenly  become  the  centre  of  the  movement,  and 
compel  the  system  to  gyrate  round  it,  as  every 
man  of  strong  will,  like  Pisistratus,  or  Cromwell, 
does  for  a  time,  and  every  man  of  truth,  like  Plato, 

17 


194 


ESSAY  VII. 


or  Paul,  does  forever.  But  politics  rest  on  neces¬ 
sary  foundations,  and  cannot  be  treated  with  levity. 
Republics  abound  in  young  civilians,  who  believe 
that  the  laws  make  the  city,  that  grave  modifica¬ 
tions  of  the  policy  and  modes  of  living,  and  em¬ 
ployments  of  the  population,  that  commerce,  edu¬ 
cation,  and  religion,  may  be  voted  in  or  out ;  and 
that  any  measure,  though  it  were  absurd,  may  be 
imposed  on  a  people,  if  only  you  can  get  sufficient 
voices  to  make  it  a  law.  But  the  wise  know  that 
foolish  legislation  is  a  rope  of  sand,  which  perishes 
in  the  twisting  ;  that  the  State  must  follow,  and 
not  lead  the  character  and  progress  of  the  citizen ; 
the  strongest  usurper  is  quickly  got  rid  of ;  and 
they  only  who  build  on  Ideas,  build  for  eternity  ; 
and  that  the  form  of  government  which  prevails, 
is  the  expression  of  what  cultivation  exists  in  the 
population  which  permits  it.  The  law  is  only  a 
memorandum.  We  are  superstitious,  and  esteem 
the  statute  somewhat :  so  much  life  as  it  has  in  the 
character  of  living  men,  is  its  force.  The  statute 
stands  there  to  say,  yesterday  we  agreed  so  and  so, 
but  how  feel  ye  this  article  to-day?  Our  statute 
is  a  currency,  which  we  stamp  with  our  own  por¬ 
trait  :  it  soon  becomes  unrecognizable,  and  in  pro¬ 
cess  of  time  will  return  to  the  mint.  Nature  is  not 
democratic,  nor  limited-monarchical,  but  despotic, 
and  will  not  be  fooled  or  abated  of  any  jot  of 


POLITICS. 


195 


her  authority,  by  the  pertest  of  her  sons :  and  as 
fast  as  the  public  mind  is  opened  to  more  intelli¬ 
gence,  the  code  is  seen  to  be  brute  and  stammer¬ 
ing.  It  speaks  not  articulately,  and  must  be  made 
to.  Meantime  the  education  of  the  general  mind 
never  stops.  The  reveries  of  the  true  and  sim¬ 
ple  are  prophetic.  What  the  tender  poetic  youth 
dreams,  and  prays,  and  paints  to-day,  but  shuns 
the  ridicule  of  saying  aloud,  shall  presently  be  the 
resolutions  of  public  bodies,  then  shall  be  carried 
as  grievance  and  bill  of  rights  through  conflict 
and  war,  and  then  shall  be  triumphant  law  and 
establishment  for  a  hundred  years,  until  it  gives 
place,  in  turn,  to  new  prayers  and  pictures.  The 
history  of  the  State  sketches  in  coarse  outline  the 
progress  of  thought,  and  follows  at  a  distance  the 
delicacy  of  culture  and  of  aspiration. 

The  theory  of  politics,  which  has  possessed  the 
mind  of  men,  and  which  they  have  expressed  the 
best  they,  could  in  their  laws  and  in  their  revolu¬ 
tions,  considers  persons  and  property  as  the  two 
objects  for  whose  protection  government  exists. 
Of  persons,  all  have  equal  rights,  in  virtue  of  being 
identical  in  nature.  This  interest,  of  course,  with 
its  whole  power  demands  a  democracy.  Whilst 
the  rights  of  all  as  persons  are  equal,  in  virtue  of 
their  access  to  reason,  their  rights  in  property  are 
very  unequal.  One  man  owns  his  clothes,  and 


196 


ESSAY  VII. 


another  owns  a  county.  This  accident,  depending, 
primarily,  on  the  skill  and  virtue  of  the  parties,  of 
which  there  is  every  degree,  and,  secondarily,  on 
patrimony,  falls  unequally,  and  its  rights,  of  course, 
are  unequal.  Personal  rights,  universally  the  same, 
demand  a  government  framed  on  the  ratio  of  the 
census  :  property  demands  a  government  framed  on 
the  ratio  of  owners  and  of  owning.  Laban,  who 
has  flocks  and  herds,  wishes  them  looked  after  by  an 
officer  on  the  frontiers,  lest  the  Midianites  shall  drive 
them  off,  and  pays  a  tax  to  that  end.  Jacob  has  no 
flocks  or  herds,  and  no  fear  of  the  Midianites,  and 
pays  no  tax  to  the  officer.  It  seemed  fit  that  Laban 
and  Jacob  should  have  equal  rights  to  elect  the 
officer,  who  is  to  defend  their  persons,  but  that  La¬ 
ban,  and  not  Jacob,  should  elect  the  officer  who  is  to 
guard  the  sheep  and  cattle.  And,  if  question  arise 
whether  additional  officers  or  watch-towers  should 
be  provided,  must  not  Laban  and  Isaac,  and  those 
who  must  sell  part  of  their  herds  to  buy  protection 
for  the  rest,  judge  better  of  this,  and  with  more 
right,  than  Jacob,  who,  because  he  is  a  youth  and 
a  traveller,  eats  their  bread  and  not  his  own  ? 

In  the  earliest  society  the  proprietors  made  their 
own  wealth,  and  so  long  as  it  comes  to  the  owners 
in  the  direct  way,  no  other  opinion  would  arise  in 
any  equitable  community,  than  that  property  should 
make  the  law  for  property,  and  persons  the  law  for 
persons. 


POLITICS. 


197 


But  property  passes  through  donation  or  inherit¬ 
ance  to  those  who  do  not  create  it.  Gift,  in  one 
case,  makes  it  as  really  the  new  owner’s,  as  labor 
made  it  the  first  owner’s :  in  the  other  case,  of  pat¬ 
rimony,  the  law  makes  an  ownership,  which  will 
be  valid  in  each  man’s  view  according  to  the  es¬ 
timate  which  he  sets  on  the  public  tranquillity. 

It  was  not,  however,  found  easy  to  embody  the 
readily  admitted  principle,  that  property  should 
make  law  for  property,  and  persons  for  persons  : 
since  persons  and  property  mixed  themselves  in 
every  transaction.  At  last  it  seemed  settled,  that 
the  rightful  distinction  was,  that  the  proprietors 
should  have  more  elective  franchise  than  non-pro¬ 
prietors,  on  the  Spartan  principle  of  “  calling  that 
which  is  just,  equal ;  not  that  which  is  equal,  just.” 

That  principle  no  longer  looks  so  self-evident  as 
it  appeared  in  former  times,  partly,  because  doubts 
have  arisen  whether  too  much  weight  had  not  been 
allowed  in  the  laws,  to  property,  and  such  a  struc¬ 
ture  given  to  our  usages,  as  allowed  the  rich  to  en¬ 
croach  on  the  poor,  and  to  keep  them  poor  j  but 
mainly,  because  there  is  an  instinctive  sense,  how¬ 
ever  obscure  and  yet  inarticulate,  that  the  whole 
constitution  of  property,  on  its  present  tenures,  is 
injurious,  and  its  influence  on  persons  deteriorating 
and  degrading ;  that  truly,  the  only  interest  for  the 
consideration  of  the  State,  is  persons  :  that  property 

17  * 


198 


ESSAl  VII. 


will  always  follow  persons ;  that  the  highest  end 
of  government  is  the  culture  of  men  :  and  if  men 
can  be  educated,  the  institutions  will  share  their 
improvement,  and  the  moral  sentiment  will  write 
the  law  of  the  land. 

If  it  be  not  easy  to  settle  the  equity  of  this  ques¬ 
tion,  the  peril  is  less  when  we  take  note  of  our  nat¬ 
ural  defences.  We  are  kept  by  better  guards  than 
the  vigilance  of  such  magistrates  as  we  commonly 
elect.  Society  always  consists,  in  greatest  part,  of 
young  and  foolish  persons.  The  old,  who  have 
seen  through  the  hypocrisy  of  courts  and  statesmen, 
die,  and  leave  no  wisdom  to  their  sons.  They  be¬ 
lieve  their  own  newspaper,  as  their  fathers  did  at 
their  age.  With  such  an  ignorant  and  deceivable 
majority,  States  would  soon  run  to  ruin,  but  that 
there  are  limitations,  beyond  which  the  folly  and 
ambition  of  governors  cannot  go.  Things  have 
their  laws,  as  well  as  men ;  and  things  refuse  to 
be  trifled  with.  Property  will  be  protected.  Corn 
will  not  grow,  unless  it  is  planted  and  manured  ; 
hut  the  farmer  will  not  plant  or  hoe  it,  unless  the 
chances  are  a  hundred  to  one,  that  he  will  cut  and 
harvest  it.  Under  any  forms,  persons  and  property 
must  and  will  have  their  just  sway.  They  exert 
their  power,  as  steadily  as  matter  its  attraction. 
Cover  up  a  pound  of  earth  never  so  cunningly,  di¬ 
vide  and  subdivide  it;  melt  it  to  liquid,  convert  it 


POLITICS. 


199 


to  gas ;  it  will  always  weigh  a  pound :  it  will 
always  attract  and  resist  other  matter,  by  the  full 
virtue  of  one  pound  weight;  —  and  the  attributes 
of  a  person,  his  wit  and  his  moral  energy,  will  exer¬ 
cise,  under  any  law  or  extinguishing  tyranny,  their 
proper  force,  — if  not  overtly,  then  covertly  ;  if  not 
for  the  law,  then  against  it;  if  not  wholesomely,  then 
poisonously  ;  with  right,  or  by  might. 

The  boundaries  of  personal  influence  it  is  impos¬ 
sible  to  fix,  as  persons  are  organs  of  moral  or  super¬ 
natural  force.  Under  the  dominion  of  an  idea, 
which  possesses  the  minds  of  multitudes,  as  civil 
freedom,  or  the  religious  sentiment,  the  powers  of 
persons  are  no  longer  subjects  of  calculation.  A 
nation  of  men  unanimously  bent  on  freedom,  or 
conquest,  can  easily  confound  the  arithmetic  of  sta¬ 
tists,  and  achieve  extravagant  actions,  out  of  all 
proportion  to  their  means  ;  as,  the  Greeks,  the  Sara¬ 
cens,  the  Swiss,  the  Americans,  and  the  French 

/ 

have  done. 

In  like  manner,  to  every  particle  of  property  be¬ 
longs  its  own  attraction.  A  cent  is  the  representa¬ 
tive  of  a  certain  quantity  of  corn  or  other  commod¬ 
ity.  Its  value  is  in  the  necessities  of  the  animal 
man.  It  is  so  much  warmth,  so  much  bread,  so 
much  water,  so  much  land.  The  law  may  do 
what  it  will  with  the  owner  of  property,  its  just 
power  will  still  attach  to  the  cent.  The  law  may 
in  a  mad  freak  say,  that  all  shall  have  power  ex- 


200 


ESSAY  VII. 


cept  the  owners  of  property :  they  shall  have  no 
vote.  Nevertheless,  by  a  higher  law,  the  property 
will,  year  after  year,  write  every  statute  that  re¬ 
spects  property.  The  non-proprietor  will  be  the 
scribe  of  the  proprietor.  What  the  owners  wish 
to  do,  the  whole  power  of  property  will  do,  either 
through  the  law,  or  else  in  defiance  of  it.  Of  course, 
I  speak  of  all  the  property,  not  merely  of  the  great 
estates.  When  the  rich  are  outvoted,  as  frequently 
happens,  it  is  the  joint  treasury  of  the  poor  which 
exceeds  their  accumulations.  Every  man  owns 
something,  if  it  is  only  a  cow,  or  a  wheelbarrow, 
or  his  arms,  and  so  has  that  property  to  dispose  of. 

The  same  necessity  which  secures  the  rights  of 
person  and  property  against  the  malignity  or  folly 
of  the  magistrate,  determines  the  form  and  methods 
of  governing,  which  are  proper  to  each  nation,  and 
to  its  habit  of  thought,  and  nowise  transferable  to 
other  states  of  society.  In  this  country,  we  are 
very  vain  of  our  political  institutions,  which  are 
singular  in  this,  that  they  sprung,  within  the  mem¬ 
ory  of  living  men,  from  the  character  and  condi¬ 
tion  of  the  people,  which  they  still  express  with 
sufficient  fidelity,  —  and  we  ostentatiously  prefer 
them  to  any  other  in  history.  They  are  not  better, 
but  only  fitter  for  us.  We  may  be  wise  in  assert¬ 
ing  the  advantage  in  modern  times  of  the  demo¬ 
cratic  form,  but  to  other  states  of  society,  in  which 


POLITICS. 


201 


religion  consecrated  the  monarchical,  that  and  not 
this  was  expedient.  Democracy  is  better  for  us,  be¬ 
cause  the  religious  sentiment  of  the  present  time 
accords  better  with  it.  Born  democrats,  we  are  no 
wise  qualified  to  judge  of  monarchy,  which,  to  our 
fathers  living  in  the  monarchical  idea,  was  also  rel¬ 
atively  right.  But  our  institutions,  though  in  coin¬ 
cidence  with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  have  not  any 
exemption  from  the  practical  defects  which  have  dis¬ 
credited  other  forms.  Every  actual  State  is  corrupt. 
Good  men  must  not  obey  the  laws  too  well.  What 
satire  on  government  can  equal  the  severity  of  cen¬ 
sure  conveyed  in  the  word  politic,  which  now  for 
ages  has  signified  cunning ,  intimating  that  the 
State  is  a  trick  ? 

The  same  benign  necessity  and  the  same  practi¬ 
cal  abuse  appear  in  the  parties  into  which  each  State 
divides  itself,  of  opponents  and  defenders  of  the 
administration  of  the  government.  Parties  are  also 
founded  on  instincts,  and  have  better  guides  to  their 
own  humble  aims  than  the  sagacity  of  their  leaders. 
They  have  nothing  perverse  in  their  origin,  but 
rudely  mark  some  real  and  lasting  relation.  We 
might  as  wisely  reprove  the  east  wind,  or  the  frost, 
as  a  political  party,  whose  members,  for  the  most 
part,  could  give  no  account  of  their  position,  but 
stand  for  the  defence  of  those  interests  in  which 
they  find  themselves.  Our  quarrel  with  them  be- 


202 


ESSAY  VII. 


gins,  when  they  quit  this  deep  natural  ground  at 
the  bidding  of  some  leader,  and,  obeying  personal 
considerations,  throw  themselves  into  the  mainte¬ 
nance  and  defence  of  points,  nowise  belonging  to 
their  system.  A  party  is  perpetually  corrupted  by 
personality.  Whilst  we  absolve  the  association 
from  dishonesty,  we  cannot  extend  the  same  chari¬ 
ty  to  their  leaders.  They  reap  the  rewards  of  the 
docility  and  zeal  of  the  masses  which  they  direct. 
Ordinarily,  our  parties  are  parties  of  circumstance, 
and  not  of  principle ;  as,  the  planting  interest  in 
conflict  with  the  commercial ;  the  party  of  capital¬ 
ists,  and  that  of  operatives ;  parties  which  are  iden¬ 
tical  in  their  moral  character,  and  which  can  easily 
change  ground  with  each  other,  in  the  support  of 
many  of  their  measures.  Parties  of  principle,  as, 
religious  sects,  or  the  party  of  free-trade,  of  univer¬ 
sal  suffrage,  of  abolition  of  slavery,  of  abolition  of 
capital  punishment,  degenerate  into  personalities,  or 
would  inspire  enthusiasm.  The  vice  of  our  lead¬ 
ing  parties  in  this  country  (which  may  be  cited  as 
a  fair  specimen  of  these  societies  of  opinion)  is, 
that  they  do  not  plant  themselves  on  the  deep  and 
necessary  grounds  to  which  they  are  respectively 
entitled,  but  lash  themselves  to  fury  in  the  carry¬ 
ing  of  some  local  and  momentary  measure,  nowise 
useful  to  the  commonwealth.  Of  the  two  great 
parties,  which,  at  this  hour,  almost  share  the  nation 


POLITICS. 


203 


between  them,  I  should  say,  that,  one  has  the  best 
cause,  and  the  other  contains  the  best  men.  The 
philosopher,  the  poet,  or  the  religious  man,  will,  of 
course,  wish  to  cast  his  vote  with  the  democrat,  for 
free-trade,  for  wide  suffrage,  for  the  abolition  of 
legal  cruelties  in  the  penal  code,  and  for  facilitating 
in  every  manner  the  access  of  the  young  and  the 
poor  to  the  sources  of  wealth  and  power.  But  he 
can  rarely  accept  the  persons  whom  the  so-called 
popular  party  propose  to  him  as  representatives  of 
these  liberalities.  They  have  not  at  heart  the  ends 
which  give  to  the  name  of  democracy  what  hope 
and  virtue  are  in  it.  The  spirit  of  our  American 
radicalism  is  destructive  and  aimless  :  it  is  not  lov¬ 
ing  ;  it  has  no  ulterior  and  divine  ends ;  but  is  de¬ 
structive  only  out  of  hatred  and  selfishness.  On 
the  other  side,  the  conservative  party,  composed  of 
the  most  moderate,  able,  and  cultivated  part  of  the 
population,  is  timid,  and  merely  defensive  of  prop¬ 
erty.  It  vindicates  no  right,  it  aspires  to  no  real 
good,  it  brands  no  crime,  it  proposes  no  generous 
policy,  it  does  not  build,  nor  write,  nor  cherish  the 
arts,  nor  foster  religion,  nor  establish  schools,  nor 
encourage  science,  nor  emancipate  the  slave,  nor 
befriend  the  poor,  or  the  Indian,  or  the  immigrant. 
From  neither  party,  when  in  power,  has  the  world 
any  benefit  to  expect  in  science,  art,  or  humanity, 
at  all  commensurate  with  the  resources  of  the  na¬ 
tion. 


204 


ESSAY  VII. 


I  do  not  for  thesS' defects  despair  of  our  republic. 
We  are  not  at  the  mercy  of  any  waves  of  chance. 
In  the  strife  of  ferocious  parties,  human  nature  al¬ 
ways  finds  itself  cherished,  as  the  children  of  the 
convicts  at  Botany  Bay  are  found  to  have  as  healthy 
a  moral  sentiment  as  other  children.  Citizens  of 
feudal  states  are  alarmed  at  our  democratic  institu¬ 
tions  lapsing  into  anarchy ;  and  the  older  and  more 
cautious  among  ourselves  are  learning  from  Euro¬ 
peans  to  look  with  some  terror  at  our  turbulent 
freedom.  It  is  said  that  in  our  license  of  constru¬ 
ing  the  Constitution,  and  in  the  despotism  of  public 
opinion,  we  have  no  anchor ;  and  one  foreign  ob¬ 
server  thinks  he  has  found  the  safeguard  in  the 
sanctity  of  Marriage  among  us  ;  and  another  thinks 
he  has  found  it  in  our  Calvinism.  Fisher  Ames 
expressed  the  popular  security  more  wisely,  when 
he  compared  a  monarchy  and  a -republic,  saying, 
“  that  a  monarchy  is  a  merchantman,  which  sails 
well,  but  will  sometimes  strike  on  a  rock,  and  go  to 
the  bottom  ;  whilst  a  republic  is  a  raft,  which  would 
never  sink,  but  then  your  feet  are  always  in  water.” 
No  forms  can  have  any  dangerous  importance,  whilst 
we  are  befriended  by  the  laws  of  things.  It  makes 
no  difference  how  many  tons  weight  of  atmosphere 
presses  on  our  heads,  so  long  as  the  same  pressure 
resists  it  within  the  lungs.  Augment  the  mass  a 
thousand  fold,  it  cannot  begin  to  crush  us,  as  long 


POLITICS. 


205 


as  reaction  is  equal  to  action.  The  fact  of  two 
poles,  of  two  forces,  centripetal  and  centrifugal,  is 
universal,  and  each  force  by  its  own  activity  de¬ 
velops  the  other.  Wild  liberty  develops  iron  con¬ 
science.  Want  of  liberty,  by  strengthening  law 
and  decorum,  stupefies  conscience.  ‘  Lynch-law  ’ 
prevails  only  where  there  is  greater  hardihood  and 
self-subsistency  in  the  leaders.  A  mob  cannot  be 
a  permanency  :  everybody’s  interest  requires  that  it 
should  not  exist,  and  only  justice  satisfies  all. 

We  must  trust  infinitely  to  the  beneficent  neces¬ 
sity  which  shines  through  all  laws.  Human  nature 
expresses  itself  in  them  as  characteristically  as  in 
statues,  or  songs,  or  railroads,  and  an  abstract  of  the 
codes  of  nations  would  be  a  transcript  of  the  com¬ 
mon  conscience.  Governments  have  their  origin 
in  the  moral  identity  of  men.  Reason  for  one  is 
seen  to  be  reason  for  another,  and  for  every  other. 
There  is  a  middle  measure  which  satisfies  all  par¬ 
ties,  be  they  never  so  many,  or  so  resolute  for  their 
own.  Every  man  finds  a  sanction  for  his  simplest 
claims  and  deeds  in  decisions  of  his  own  mind, 
which  he  calls  Truth  and  Holiness.  In  these  de¬ 
cisions  all  the  citizens  find  a  perfect  agreement,  and 
only  in  these  ;  not  in  what  is  good  to  eat,  good  to 
wear,  good  use  of  time,  or  what  amount  of  land,  or 
of  public  aid,  each  is  entitled  to  claim.  This  truth 
and  justice  men  presently  endeavor  to  make  ap- 

18 


206 


ESSAY  VII. 


plication  of,  to  the  measuring  of  land,  the  apportion¬ 
ment  of  service,  the  protection  of  life  and  property. 
Their  first  endeavors,  no  doubt,  are  very  awkward. 
Yet  absolute  right  is  the  first  governor;  or,  every 
government  is  an  impure  theocracy.  The  idea,  af¬ 
ter  which  each  community  is  aiming  to  make  and 
mend  its  law,  is,  the  will  of  the  wise  man.  The 
wise  man,  it  cannot  find  in  nature,  and  it  makes 
awkward  but  earnest  efforts  to  secure  his  govern¬ 
ment  by  contrivance ;  as,  by  causing  the  entire 
people  to  give  their  voices  on  every  measure  ;  or, 
by  a  double  choice  to  get  the  representation  of  the 
whole  ;  or,  by  a  selection  of  the  best  citizens ;  or, 
to  secure  the  advantages  of  efficiency  and  internal 
peace,  by  confiding  the  government  to  one,  who 
may  himself  select  his  agents.  All  forms  of  govern¬ 
ment  symbolize  an  immortal  government,  common 
to  all  dynasties  and  independent  of  numbers,  per¬ 
fect  where  two  men  exist,  perfect  where  there  is 
only  one  man. 

Every  man’s  nature  is  a  sufficient  advertisement 
to  him  of  the  character  of  his  fellows.  My  right 
and  my  wrong,  is  their  right  and  their  wrong. 
Whilst  I  do  what  is  fit  for  me,  and  abstain  from 
what  is  unfit,  my  neighbor  and  I  shall  often  agree 
in  our  means,  and  work  together  for  a  time  to  one 
end.  But  whenever  I  find  my  dominion  over  my¬ 
self  not  sufficient  for  me,  and  undertake  the  direc- 


POLITICS. 


207 


tion  of  him  also,  I  overstep  the  truth,  and  come  into 
false  relations  to  him.  I  may  have  so  much  more 
skill  or  strength  than  he,  that  he  cannot  express 
adequately  his  sense  of  wrong,  but  it  is  a  lie,  and 
hurts  like  a  lie  both  him  and  me.  Love  and  nature 
cannot  maintain  the  assumption  :  it  must  be  execut¬ 
ed  by  a  practical  lie,  namely,  by  force.  This  un¬ 
dertaking  for  another,  is  the  blunder  which  stands 
in  colossal  ugliness  in  the  governments  of  the  world. 
It  is  the  same  thing  in  numbers,  as  in  a  pair,  only 
not  quite  so  intelligible.  I  can  see  well  enough  a 
great  difference  between  my  setting  myself  down 
to  a  self-control,  and  my  going  to  make  somebody 
else  act  after  my  views  :  but  when  a  quarter  of  the 
human  race  assume  to  tell  me  what  I  must  do,  I 
may  be  too  much  disturbed  by  the  circumstances 
to  see  so  clearly  the  absurdity  of  their  command. 
Therefore,  all  public  ends  look  vague  and  quixotic 
beside  private  ones.  For,*  any  laws  but  those 
which  men  make  for  themselves,  are  laughable. 
If  I  put  myself  in  the  place  of  my  child,  and  we 
stand  in  one  thought,  and  see  that  things  are  thus 
or  thus,  that  perception  is  law  for  him  and  me. 
We  are  both  there,  both  act.  But  if,  without  car¬ 
rying  him  into  the  thought,  I  look  over  into  his 
plot,  and,  guessing  how  it  is  with  him,  ordain  this 
or  that,  he  will  never  obey  me.  This  is  the  history 
of  governments,  —  one  man  does  something  which 


208 


ESSAY  VII. 


is  to  bind  another.  A  man  who  cannot  be  acquaint¬ 
ed  with  me,  taxes  me;  looking  from  afar  at  me, 
ordains  that  a  part  of  my  labor  shall  go  to  this  or 
that  whimsical  end,  not  as  I,  but  as  he  happens  to 
fancy.  Behold  the  consequence.  Of  all  debts, 
men  are  least  willing  to  pay  the  taxes.  What  a 
satire  is  this  on  government !  Everywhere  they 
think  they  get  their  money’s  worth,  except  for 
these. 

Hence,  the  less  government  we  have,  the  better, 
—  the  fewer  laws,  and  the  less  confided  power. 
The  antidote  to  this  abuse  of  formal  Government, 
is,  the  influence  of  private  character,  the  growth  of 
the  Individual ;  the  appearance  of  the  principal  to 
supersede  the  proxy ;  the  appearance  of  the  wise 
man,  of  whom  the  existing  government  is,  it  must 
be  owned,  but  a  shabby  imitation.  That  which  all 
things  tend  to  educe,  which  freedom,  cultivation, 
intercourse,  revolutions,  go  to  form  and  deliver,  is 
character  ;  that  is  the  end  of  nature,  to  reach  unto 
this  coronation  of  her  king.  To  educate  the  wise 
man,  the  State  exists ;  and  with  the  appearance  of 
the  wise  man,  the  State  expires.  The  appearance 
of  character  makes  the  State  unnecessary.  The 
wise  man  is  the  State.  He  needs  no  army,  fort,  or 
navy,  —  he  loves  men  too  well ;  no  bribe,  or  feast, 
or  palace,  to  draw  friends  to  him ;  no  vantage 
ground,  no  favorable  circumstance.  He  needs  no 


POLITICS. 


209 


ibrary,  for  he  has  not  done  thinking  ;  no  church, 
for  he  is  a  prophet ;  no  statute  book,  for  he  has  the 
lawgiver ;  no  money,  for  he  is  value  ;  no  road,  for 
he  is  at  home  where  he  is  ;  no  experience,  for  the 
life  of  the  creator  shoots  through  him,  and  looks 
from  his  eyes.  He  has  no  personal  friends,  for  he 
who  has  the  spell  to  draw  the  prayer  and  piety  of 
all  men  unto  him,  needs  not  husband  and  educate 
a  few,  to  share  with  him  a  select  and  poetic  life. 
His  relation  to  men  is  angelic  ;  his  memory  is  myrrh 
to  them ;  his  presence,  frankincense  and  flowers. 

We  think  our  civilization  near  its  meridian,  but 
we  are  yet  only  at  the  cock-crowing  and  the  morn¬ 
ing  star.  In  our  barbarous  society  the  influence  of 
character  is  in  its  infancy.  As  a  political  power,  as 
the  rightful  lord  who  is  to  tumble  all  rulers  from 
their  chairs,  its  presence  is  hardly  yet  suspected. 
Malthus  and  Ricardo  quite  omit  it ;  the  Annual 
Register  is  silent ;  in  the  Conversations’  Lexicon, 
it  is  not  set  down  ;  the  President’s  Message,  the 
Queen’s  Speech,  have  not  mentioned  it ;  and  yet 
it  is  never  nothing.  Every  thought  which  genius 
and  piety  throw  into  the  world,  alters  the  world. 
The  gladiators  in  the  lists  of  power  feel,  through 
all  their  frocks  of  force  and  simulation,  the  presence 
of  worth.  I  think  the  very  strife  of  trade  and 
ambition  are  confession  of  this  divinity;  and  suc- 


18  * 


210 


ESSAY  VII. 


cesses  in  those  fields  are  the  poor  amends,  the  fig- 
leaf  with  which  the  shamed  soul  attempts  to  hide 
its  nakedness.  I  find  the  like  unwilling  homage  in 
all  quarters.  It  is  because  we  know  how  much  is 
due  from  us,  that  we  are  impatient  to  show  some 
petty  talent  as  a  substitute  for  worth.  We  are 
haunted  by  a  conscience  of  this  right  to  grandeur 
of  character,  and  are  false  to  it.  But  each  of  us 
has  some  talent,  can  do  somewhat  useful,  or 
graceful,  or  formidable,  or  amusing,  or  lucrative. 
That  we  do,  as  an  apology  to  others  and  to  our¬ 
selves,  for  not  reaching  the  mark  of  a  good  and 
equal  life.  But  it  does  not  satisfy  us,  whilst  we 
thrust  it  on  the  notice  of  our  companions.  It  may 
throw  dust  in  their  eyes,  but  does  not  smooth  our 
own  brow,  or  give  us  the  tranquillity  of  the  strong 
when  we  walk  abroad.  We  do  penance  as  we  go. 
Our  talent  is  a  sort  of  expiation,  and  we  are  con¬ 
strained  to  reflect  on  our  splendid  moment,  with  a 
certain  humiliation,  as  somewhat  too  fine,  and  not 
as  one  act  of  many  acts,  a  fair  expression  of  our 
permanent  energy.  Most  persons  of  ability  meet 
in  society  with  a  kind  of  tacit  appeal.  Each  seems 
to  say,  ‘  I  am  not  all  here.’  Senators  and  presi¬ 
dents  have  climbed  so  high  with  pain  enough,  not 
because  they  think  the  place  specially  agreeable,  but 
as  an  apology  for  real  worth,  and  to  vindicate  their 


POLITICS. 


211 


manhood  in  our  eyes.  This  conspicuous  chair  is 
their  compensation  to  themselves  for  being  of  a 
poor,  cold,  hard  nature.  Thejr  must  do  what  they 
can.  Like  one  class  of  forest  animals,  they  have 
nothing  but  a  prehensile  tail :  climb  they  must,  or 
crawl.  If  a  man  found  himself  so  rich-natured 
that  he  could  enter  into  strict  relations  with  the 
best  persons,  and  make  life  serene  around  him 
by  the  dignity  and  sweetness  of  his  behavior,  could 
he  afford  to  circumvent  the  favor  of  the  caucus 
and  the  press,  and  covet  relations  so  hollow  and 
pompous,  as  those  of  a  politician?  Surely  no¬ 
body  would  be  a  charlatan,  who  could  afford  to  be 
sincere. 

The  tendencies  of  the  times  favor  the  idea  of 
self-government,  and  leave  the  individual,  for  all 
code,  to  the  rewards  and  penalties  of  his  own  con¬ 
stitution,  which  work  with  more  energy  than  we 
believe,  whilst  we  depend  on  artificial  restraints. 
The  movement  in  this  direction  has  been  very  . 
marked  in  modern  history.  Much  has  been  blind 
and  discreditable,  but  the  nature  of  the  revolution 
is  not  affected  by  the  vices  of  the  revolters ;  for 
this  is  a  purely  moral  force.  It  was  never  adopted 
by  any  party  in  history,  neither  can  be.  It  sepa¬ 
rates  the  individual  from  all  party,  and  unites  him, 
at  the  same  time,  to  the  race.  It  promises  a  recog- 


212 


ESSAY  VII. 


nition  of  higher  rights  than  those  of  personal  free¬ 
dom,  or  the  security  of  property.  A  man  has  a 
right  to  be  employed,  to  be  trusted,  to  be  loved,  to 
be  revered.  The  power  of  love,  as  the  basis  of  a 
State,  has  never  been  tried.  We  must  not  imagine 
that  all  things  are  lapsing  into  confusion,  if  every 
tender  protestant  be  not  compelled  to  bear  his  part 
in  certain  social  conventions  :  nor  doubt  that  roads 
can  be  built,  letters  carried,  and  the  fruit  of  labor 
secured,  when  the  government  of  force  is  at  an  end. 
Are  our  methods  now  so  excellent  that  all  competi¬ 
tion  is  hopeless?  could  not  a  nation  of  friends 
even  devise  better  ways  ?  On  the  other  hand,  let 
not  the  most  conservative  and  timid  fear  anything 
from  a  premature  surrender  of  the  bayonet,  and  the 
system  of  force.  For,  according  to  the  order  of 
nature,  which  is  quite  superior  to  our  will,  it  stands 
thus ;  there  will  always  be  a  government  of  force, 
where  men  are  selfish ;  and  when  they  are  pure 
enough  to  abjure  the  code  of  force,  they  will  be 
wise  enough  to  see  how  these  public  ends  of  the 
post-office,  of  the  highway,  of  commerce,  and  the 
exchange  of  property,  of  museums  and  libraries,  of 
institutions  of  art  and  science,  can  be  answered. 

We  live  in  a  very  low  state  of  the  world,  and 
pay  unwilling  tribute  to  governments  founded  on 
force.  There  is  not,  among  the  most  religious  and 


POLITICS. 


213 


instructed  men  of  the  most  religious  and  civil  na¬ 
tions,  a  reliance  on  the  moral  sentiment,  and  a  suf¬ 
ficient  belief  in  the  unity  of  things  to  persuade 
them  that  society  can  be  maintained  without  artifi¬ 
cial  restraints,  as  well  as  the  solar  system  ;  or  that 
the  private  citizen  might  be  reasonable,  and  a  good 
neighbor,  without  the  hint  of  a  jail  or  a  confiscation. 
What  is  strange  too,  there  never  was  in  any  man 
sufficient  faith  in  the  power  of  rectitude,  to  inspire 
him  with  the  broad  design  of  renovating  the  State 
on  the  principle  of  right  and  love.  All  those  who 
have  pretended  this  design,  have  been  partial  re¬ 
formers,  and  have  admitted  in  some  manner  the 
supremacy  of  the  bad  State.  I  do  not  call  to 
mind  a  single  human  being  who  has  steadily  de¬ 
nied  the  authority  of  the  laws,  on  the  simple  ground 
of  his  own  moral  nature.  Such  designs,  full  of 
genius  and  lull  of  fate  as  they  are,  are  not  enter¬ 
tained  except  avowedly  as  air-pictures.  If  the 
individual  who  exhibits  them,  dare  to  think  them 
practicable,  he  disgusts  scholars  and  churchmen ; 
and  men  of  talent,  and  women  of  superior  senti¬ 
ments,  cannot  hide  their  contempt.  Not  the  less 

does  nature  continue  to  fill  the  heart  of  youth  with 

* 

suggestions  of  this  enthusiasm,  and  there  are  now 
men,  —  if  indeed  I  can  speak  in  the  plural  num¬ 
ber, —  more  exactly,  I  will  say,  I  have  just 


214 


ESSAY  VII. 


been  conversing  with  one  man,  to  whom  no  weight 
of  adverse  experience  will  make  it  for  a  moment 
appear  impossible,  that  thousands  of  human  beings 
might  exercise  towards  each  other  the  grandest  and 
simplest  sentiments,  as  well  as  a  knot  of  friends,  or 
a  pair  of  lovers. 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


In  countless  upAvard -striving  waves 
The  moon- drawn  tide-wa\re  strives  : 
In  thousand  far-transplanted  grafts 
The  parent  fruit  survives  ; 

So,  in  the  new-born  millions, 

The  perfect  Adam  lives. 

Not  less  are  summer-mornings  dear 
To  evtjry  child  they  wake, 

And  each  Avith  novel  life  his  sphere 
Pills  for  his  proper  sake. 


ESSAY  VIII. 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


I  cannot  often  enough  say,  that  a  man  is  only  a 
relative  and  representative  nature.  Each  is  a  hint 
of  the  truth,  but  far  enough  from  being  that  truth, 
which  yet  he  quite  newly  and  inevitably  suggests 
to  us.  If  I  seek  it  in  him,  I  shall  not  find  it. 
Could  any  man  conduct  into  me  the  pure  stream 
of  that  which  he  pretends  to  be !  Long  after¬ 
wards,  I  find  that  quality  elsewhere  which  he  prom¬ 
ised  me.  The  genius  of  the  Platonists  is  intoxi¬ 
cating  to  the  student,  yet  how  few  particulars  of  it 
can  I  detach  from  all  their  books.  The  man  mo¬ 
mentarily  stands  for  the  thought,  but  will  not  bear 
examination  j  and  a  society  of  men  will  cursorily 
represent  well  enough  a  certain  quality  and  culture, 
for  example,  chivalry  or  beauty  of  manners,  but 
separate  them,  and  there  is  no  gentleman  and  no 
lady  in  the  group.  The  least  hint  sets  us  on  the 
pursuit  of  a  character,  which  no  man  realizes.  We 


218 


ESSAY  VIII. 


have  such  exorbitant  eyes,  that  on  seeing  the 
smallest  arc,  we  complete  the  curve,  and  when  the 
curtain  is  lifted  from  the  diagram  which  it  seemed 
to  veil,  we  are  vexed  to  find  that  no  more  was 
drawn,  than  just  that  fragment  of  an  arc  which  we 
first  beheld.  We  are  greatly  too  liberal  in  our  con¬ 
struction  of  each  other’s  faculty  and  promise.  Ex¬ 
actly  what  the  parties  have  already  done,  they  shall 
do  again  ;  but  that  which  we  inferred  from  their 
nature  and  inception,  they  will  not  do.  That  is  in 
nature,  but  not  in  them.  That  happens  in  the 
world,  which  we  often  witness  in  a  public  debate. 
Each  of  the  speakers  expresses  himself  imperfectly  : 
no  one  of  them  hears  much  that  another  says,  such 
is  the  preoccupation  of  mind  of  each  ;  and  the  au¬ 
dience,  who  have  only  to  hear  and  not  to  speak, 
judge  very  wisely  and  superiorly  how  wrongheaded 
and  unskilful  is  each  of  the  debaters  to  his  own 
affair.  Great  men  or  men  of  great  gifts  you  shall 
easily  find,  but  symmetrical  men  never.  When  I 
meet  a  pure  intellectual  force,  or  a  generosity  of 
affection,  I  believe,  here  then  is  man  ;  and  am  pres¬ 
ently  mortified  by  the  discovery,  that  this  indi¬ 
vidual  is  no  more  available  to  his  own  or  to  the 
general  ends,  than  his  companions;  because  the 
power  which  drew  my  respect,  is  not  supported  by 
the  total  symphony  of  his  talents.  All  persons 
exist  to  society  by  some  shining  trait  of  beauty  or 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


219 


utility-)  tvhich  they  have.  We  borrow  the  pro¬ 
portions  of  the  man  from  that  one  fine  feature, 
and  finish  the  portrait  symmetrically  ;  which  is 
false  ;  for  the  rest  of  his  body  is  small  or  deformed. 
I  observe  a  person  who  makes  a  good  public  ap¬ 
pearance,  and  conclude  thence  the  perfection  of  his 
private  character,  on  which  this  is  based  ;  but  he 
has  no  private  character.  He  is  a  graceful  cloak 
or  lay-figure  for  holidays.  All  our  poets,  heroes, 
and  saints,  fad  utterly  in  some  one  or  in  many  parts 
to  satisfy  our  idea,  fail  to  draw  our  spontaneous 
interest,  and  so  leave  us  without  any  hope  of  reali¬ 
zation  but  in  our  own  future.  Our  exaggeration 
of  all  fine  characters  arises  from  the  fact,  that  we 
identify  each  in  turn  with  the  soul.  But  there  are 
no  such  men  as  we  fable ;  no  Jesus,  nor  Pericles, 
nor  Cmsar,  nor  Angelo,  nor  Washington,  such  as  we 
have  made.  We  consecrate  a  great  deal  of  non¬ 
sense,  because  it  was  allowed  by  great  men.  There 
is  none  without  his  foible.  I  verily  believe  if  an 
angel  should  come  to  chant  the  chorus  of  the 
moral  law,  he  would  eat  too  much  gingerbread,  ot 
take  liberties  with  private  letters,  or  do  some  pre¬ 
cious  atrocity.  It  is  bad  enough,  that  our  geniuses 
cannot  do  anything  useful,  but  it  is  worse  that  no 
man  is  fit  for  society,  who  has  fine  traits.  He  is 
admired  at  a  distance,  but  he  cannot  come  near 
without  appearing  a  cripple.  The  men  of  fine 


220 


ESSAY  VIII. 


parts  pfotect  themselves  by  solitude,  or  by  courtesy, 
or  by  satire,  or  by  an  acid  worldly  manner,  each  con¬ 
cealing,  as  he  best  can,  his  incapacity  for  useful  asso¬ 
ciation,  but  they  want  either  love  or  self-reliance. 

Our  native  love  of  reality  joins  with  this  expe¬ 
rience  to  teach  us  a  little  reserve,  and  to  dissuade 
a  too  sudden  surrender  to  the  brilliant  qualities  of 
persons.  Young  people  admire  talents  or  particu¬ 
lar  excellences ;  as  we  grow  older,  we  value  total 
powers  and  effects,  as,  the  impression,  the  quality, 
the  spirit  of  men  and  things.  The  genius  is  all. 
The  man,  —  it  is  his  system  :  we  do  not  try  a  soli¬ 
tary  word  or  act,  but  his  habit.  The  acts  which 
you  praise,  I  praise  not,  since  they  are  departures 
from  his  faith,  and  are  mere  compliances.  The 
magnetism  which  arranges  tribes  and  races  in  one 
polarity,  is  alone  to  be  respected  ;  the  men  are  steel- 
filings.  Yet  we  unjustly  select  a  particle,  and  say, 
1  O  steel-filing  number  one !  what  heart-drawings 
I  feel  to  thee !  what  prodigious  virtues  are  these  of 
thine  !  how  constitutional  to  thee,  and  incommuni¬ 
cable  !  ’  Whilst  we  speak,  the  loadstone  is  with¬ 
drawn  ;  down  falls  our  filing  in  a  heap  with  the 
rest,  and  we  continue  our  mummery  to  the  wretched 
shaving.  Let  us  go  for  universals ;  for  the  mag¬ 
netism,  not  for  the  needles.  Human  life  and  its 
persons  are  poor  empirical  pretensions.  A  personal 
influence  is  an  ignis  fatuus.  If  they  say,  it  is 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


221 


great,  it  is  great ;  if  they  say,  it  is  small,  it  is  small  ; 
you  see  it,  and  you  see  it  not,  by  turns ;  it  bor¬ 
rows  all  its  size  from  the  momentary  estimation  of 
the  speakers  :  the  Will-of-the-wisp  vanishes  if  you 
go  too  near,  vanishes  if  you  go  too  far,  and  only 
blazes  at  one  angle.  Who  can  tell  if  Washington 
be  a  great  man,  or  no  ?  Who  can  tell  if  Franklin 
be?  Yes,  or  any  but  the  twelve,  or  six,  or  three 
great  gods  of  fame  ?  And  they,  too,  loom  and  fade 
before  the  eternal. 

We  are  amphibious  creatures,  weaponed  for  two 
elements,  having  two  sets  of  faculties,  the  particu¬ 
lar  and  the  catholic.  We  adjust  our  instrument 
for  general  observation,  and  sweep  the  heavens  as 
easily  as  we  pick  out  a  single  figure  in  the  terres¬ 
trial  landscape.  We  are  practically  skilful  in  de¬ 
tecting  elements,  for  which  we  have  no  place  in 
our  theory,  and  no  name.  Thus  we  are  very  sen¬ 
sible  of  an  atmospheric  influence  in  men  and  in 
bodies  of  men,  not  accounted  for  in  an  arithmetical 
addition  of  all  their  measurable  properties.  There 
is  a  genius  of  a  nation,  which  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  numerical  citizens,  but  which  characterizes 
the  society.  England,  strong,  punctual,  practical, 
well-spoken  England,  I  should  not  find,  if  I  should 
go  to  the  island  to  seek  it.  In  the  parliament,  in 
the  play-house,  at  dinner-tables,  I  might  see  a  great 
number  of  rich,  ignorant,  book-read,  conventional, 
19  * 


222 


ESSAY  VIII. 


proud  men,  —  many  old  women, — and  not  any¬ 
where  the  Englishman  who  made  the  good 
speeches,  combined  the  accurate  engines,  and  did 
the  bold  and  nervous  deeds.  It  is  even  worse  in 
America,  where,  from  the  intellectual  quickness  of 
the  race,  the  genius  of  the  country  is  more  splen¬ 
did  in  its  promise,  and  more  slight  in  its  perform¬ 
ance.  Webster  cannot  do  the  work  of  Webster. 
We  conceive  distinctly  enough  the  French,  the 
Spanish,  the  German  genius,  and  it  is  not  the  less 
real,  that  perhaps  we  should  not  meet  in  either  of 
those  nations,  a  single  individual  who  corresponded 
with  the  type.  We  infer  the  spirit  of  the  nation 
in  great  measure  from  the  language,  which  is  a 
sort  of  monument,  to  which  each  forcible  individ¬ 
ual  in  a  course  of  many  hundred  years  has  contrib¬ 
uted  a  stone.  And,  universally,  a  good  example  of 
this  social  force,  is  the  veracity  of  language,  which 
cannot  be  debauched.  In  any  controversy  con¬ 
cerning  morals,  an  appeal  may  be  made  with  safety 
to  the  sentiments,  which  the  language  of  the  peo¬ 
ple  expresses.  Proverbs,  words,  and  grammar  in¬ 
flections  convey  the  public  sense  with  more  purity 
and  precision,  than  the  wisest  individual. 

In  the  famous  dispute  with  the  Nominalists,  the 
Realists  had  a  good  deal  of  reason.  General  ideas 
are  essences.  They  are  our  gods:  they  round  and 
ennoble  the  most  partial  and  sordid  way  of  living; 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST.  223 

Our  proclivity  to  details  cannot  quite  degrade  our 
life,  and  divest  it  of  poetry.  The  day-laborer  is 
reckoned  as  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  social  scale, 
yet  he  is  saturated  with  the  laws  of  the  world. 
His  measures  are  the  hours  ;  morning  and  night, 
solstice  and  equinox,  geometry,  astronomy,  and  all 
the  lovely  accidents  of  nature  play  through  his 
mind.  Money,  which  represents  the  prose  of  life, 
and  which  is  hardly  spoken  of  in  parlors  without 
an  apology,  is,  in  its  effects  and  Jaws,  as  beautiful 
as  roses.  Property  keeps  the  accounts  of  the  world, 
and  is  always  moral.  The  property  will  be  found 
where  the  labor,  the  wisdom,  and  the  virtue  have 
been  in  nations,  in  classes,  and  (the  whole  life-time 
considered,  with  the  compensations)  in  the  indi¬ 
vidual  also.  How  wise  the  world  appears,  when 
the  laws  and  usages  of  nations  are  largely  detailed, 
and  the  completeness  of  the  municipal  system  is 
considered  !  Nothing  is  left  out.  If  you  go  into 
the  markets,  and  the  custom-houses,  the  insurers’ 
and  notaries’  offices,  the  offices  of  sealers  of  weights 
and  measures,  of  inspection  of  provisions, — it  will 
appear  as  if  one  man  had  made  it  all.  Wherever 
you  go,  a  wit  like  your  own  has  been  before  you, 
and  has  realized  its  thought.  The  Eleusinian 
mysteries,  the  Egyptian  architecture,  the  Indian 
astronomy,  the  Greek  sculpture,  show  that  there 


224 


ESSAY  VIII. 


always  were  seeing  and  knowing  men  in  the  planet. 
The  world  is  full  of  masonic  ties,  of  guilds,  of 
secret  and  public  legions  of  honor ;  that  of  schol¬ 
ars,  for  example  ;  and  that  of  gentlemen  fraterniz¬ 
ing  with  the  upper  class  of  every  country  and  every 
culture. 

I  am  very  much  struck  in  literature  by  the  ap¬ 
pearance,  that  one  person  wrote  all  the  books ;  as 
if  the  editor  of  a  journal  planted  his  body  of  re¬ 
porters  in  different  parts  of  the  field  of  action,  and 
relieved  some  by  others  from  time  to  time ;  but 
there  is  such  equality  and  identity  both  of  judg¬ 
ment  and  point  of  view  in  the  narrative,  that  it  is 
plainly  the  work  of  one  all-seeing,  all-hearing  gen¬ 
tleman.  I  looked  into  Pope’s  Odyssey  yesterday: 
it  is  as  correct  and  elegant  after  our  canon  of  to¬ 
day,  as  if  it  were  newly  written.  The  modern¬ 
ness  of  all  good  books  seems  to  give  me  an  exist¬ 
ence  as  wide  as  man.  What  is  well  done,  I  feel 
as  if  I  did ;  what  is  ill  done,  I  reck  not  of.  Shak- 
speare’s  passages  of  passion  (for  example,  in  Lear 
and  Hamlet)  are  in  the  very  dialect  of  the  present 
year.  I  am  faithful  again  to  the  whole  over  the 
members  in  my  use  of  books.  I  find  the  most 
pleasure  in  reading  a  book  'in  a  manner  least  flat¬ 
tering  to  the  author.  I  read  Proclus,  and  some¬ 
times  Plato,  as  I  might  read  a  dictionary,  for  a  me- 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


225 


chanical  help  to  the  fancy  and  the  imagination.  I 
read  for  the  lustres,  as  if  one  should  use  a  fine  pic¬ 
ture  in  a  chromatic  experiment,  for  its  rich  colors 
’Tis  not  Proclus,  but  a  piece  of  nature  and  fate 
that  I  explore.  It  is  a  greater  joy  to  see  the  au¬ 
thor’s  author,  than  himself.  A  higher  pleasure  of 
the  same  kind  I  found  lately  at  a  concert,  where  I 
went  to  hear  Handel’s  Messiah.  As  the  master 
overpowered  the  littleness  and  incapableness  of  the 
performers,  and  made  them  conductors  of  his  elec¬ 
tricity,  so  it  was  easy  to  observe  what  efforts  nature 
was  making  through  so  many  hoarse,  wooden,  and 
imperfect  persons,  to  produce  beautiful  voices,  fluid 
and  soul-guided  men  and  women.  The  genius  of 
nature  was  paramount  at  the  oratorio. 

This  preference  of  the  genius  to  the  parts  is  the 
secret  of  that  deification  of  art,  which  is  found  in 
all  superior  minds.  Art,  in  the  artist,  is  proportion, 
or,  a  habitual  respect  to  the  whole  by  an  eye  lov¬ 
ing  beauty  in  details.  And  the  wonder  and  charm 
of  it  is  the  sanity  in  insanity  which  it  denotes. 
Proportion  is  almost  impossible  to  human  beings. 
There  is  no  one  who  does  not  exaggerate.  In  con¬ 
versation,  men  are  encumbered  with  personality, 
and  talk  too  much.  In  modern  sculpture,  picture, 
and  poetry,  the  beauty  is  miscellaneous;  the  artist 
works  here  and  there,  and  at  all  points,  adding  and 


226 


ESSAY  VIII. 


adding,  instead  of  unfolding  the  unit  of  his  thought. 
Beautiful  details  we  must  have,  or  no  artist :  but 
they  must  be  means  and  never  other.  The  eye 
must  not  lose  sight  for  a  moment  of  the  purpose. 
Lively  boys  write  to  their  ear  and  eye,  and  the 
cool  reader  finds  nothing  but  sweet  jingles  in  it. 
When  they  grow  older,  they  respect  the  argument.* 

WTe  obey  the  same  intellectual  integrity,  when 
we  study  in  exceptions  the  law  of  the  world. 
Anomalous  facts,  as  the  never  quite  obsolete  ru¬ 
mors  of  magic  and  demonology,  and  the  new  alle¬ 
gations  of  phrenologists  and  neurologists,  are  of 
ideal  use.  They  are  good  indications.  Homoeop¬ 
athy  is  insignificant  as  an  art  of  healing,  but  of 
great  value  as  criticism  on  the  hygeia  or  medical 
practice  of  the  time.  So  with  Mesmerism,  Swe- 
denborgism,  Fourierism,  and  the  Millennial  Church  ; 
they  are  poor  pretensions  enough,  but  good  criti¬ 
cism  on  the  science,  philosophy,  and  preaching  of 
the  day.  For  these  abnormal  insights  of  the 
adepts,  ought  to  be  normal,  and  things  of  course. 

All  things  show  us,  that  on  every  side  we  are 
very  near  to  the  best.  It  seems  not  worth  while 
to  execute  with  too  much  pains  some  one  intellec¬ 
tual,  or  aesthetical,  or  civil  feat,  when  presently  trie 
dream  will  scatter,  and  we  shall  burst  into  univer¬ 
sal  power.  The  reason  of  idleness  and  of  crime 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


227 


is  the  deferring  of  our  hopes.  Whilst  we  are  wait¬ 
ing,  we  beguile  the  time  with  jokes,  with  sleep, 
with  eating,  and  with  crimes. 

Thus  we  settle  it  in  our  cool  libraries,  that  all 
the  agents  with  which  we  deal  are  subalterns, 
,  which  we  can  well  afford  to  let  pass,  and  life  will 
be  simpler  when  we  live  at  the  centre,  and  flout 
the  surfaces.  I  wish  to  speak  with  all  respect  of 
persons,  but  sometimes  I  must  pinch  myself  to 
keep  awake,  and  preserve  the  due  decorum.  They 
melt  so  fast  into  each  other,  that  they  are  like  grass 
and  trees,  and-it  needs  an  effort  to  treat  them  as 
individuals.  Though  the  uninspired  man  certainly 
finds  persons  a  conveniency  in  household  matters, 
the  divine  man  does  not  respect  them :  he  sees 
them  as  a  rack  of  clouds,  or  a  fleet  of  ripples  which 
the  wind  drives  over  the  surface  of  the  water.  But 
this  is  flat  rebellion.  Nature  will  not  be  Buddhist : 
she  resents  generalizing,  and  insults  the  philosopher 
in  every  moment  with  a  million  of  fresh  particu¬ 
lars.  It  is  all  idle  talking  :  as  much  as  a  man  is  a 
whole,  so  is  he  also  a  part ;  and  it  were  partial  not 
to  see  it.  What  you  say  in  your  pompous  distri¬ 
bution  only  distributes  you  into  your  class  and  sec¬ 
tion.  You  have  not  got  rid  of  parts  by  denying 
them,  but  are  the  more  partial.  You  are  one  thing, 
but  nature  is  one  thing  and  the  other  thing ,  in  the 


228 


ESSAY  VIII. 


same  moment.  She  will  not  remain  orbed  in  a 
thought,  but  rushes  into  persons ;  and  when  each 
person,  inflamed  to  a  fury  of  personality,  would 
conquer  all  things  to  his  poor  crotchet,  she  raises 
up  against  him  another  person,  and  by  many  per¬ 
sons  incarnates  again  a  sort  of  whole.  She  will 
have  all.  Nick  Bottom  cannot  play  all  the  parts, 
work  it  how  he  may  :  there  will  be  somebody  else, 
and  the  world  will  be  round.  Everything  must 
have  its  flower  or  effort  at  the  beautiful,  coarser  or 
finer  according  to  its  stuff.  They  relieve  and  rec¬ 
ommend  each  other,  and  the  sanity  of  society  is  a 
balance  of  a  thousand  insanities.  She  punishes 
abstractionists,  and  will  only  forgive  an  induction 
which  is  rare  and  casual.  We  like  to  come  to  a 
height  of  land  and  see  the  landscape,  just  as  we 
value  a  general  remark  in  conversation.  But  it  is 
not  the  intention  of  nature  that  we  should  live  by 
general  views.  We  fetch  fire  and  water,  run  about 
all  day  among  the  shops  and  markets,  and  get  our 
clothes  and  shoes  made  and  mended,  and  are  the 
victims  of  these  details,  and  once  in  a  fortnight  we 
arrive  perhaps  at  a  rational  moment.  If  we  were 
not  thus  infatuated,  if  we  saw  the  real  from  hour 
to  hour,  we  should  not  be  here  to  write  and  to  read, 
but  should  have  been  burned  or  frozen  long  ago. 
She  would  never  get  anything  done,  if  she  suffered 
admirable  Crichtons,  and  universal  geniuses.  She 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


229 


loves  better  a  wheelwright  who  dreams  all  night  of 
wheels,  and  a  groom  who  is  part  of  his  horse :  for 
she  is  full  of  work,  and  these  are  her  hands.  As 
the  frugal  farmer  takes  care  that  his  cattle  shall  eat 
down  the  rowen,  and  swine  shall  eat  the  waste  of 
his  house,  and  poultry  shall  pick  the  crumbs,  so 
our  economical  mother  despatches  a  new  genius 
and  habit  of  mind  into  every  district  and  condition 
of  existence,  plants  an  eye  wherever  a  new  ray  of 
light  can  fall,  and  gathering  up  into  some  man 
every  property  in  the  universe,  establishes  thou¬ 
sandfold  occult  mutual  attractions  among  her  off¬ 
spring,  that  all  this  wash  and  waste  of  power  may 
be  imparted  and  exchanged. 

Great  dangers  undoubtedly  accrue  from  this  in¬ 
carnation  and  distribution  of  the  godhead,  and 
hence  nature  has  her  maligners,  as  if  she  were 
Circe ;  and  Alphonso  of  Castile  fancied  he  could 
have  given  useful  advice.  But  she  does  not  go 
unprovided;  she  has  hellebore  at  the  bottom  of  the 
cup.  Solitude  would  ripen  a  plentiful  crop  of  des¬ 
pots.  The  recluse  thinks  of  men  as  having  his 
manner,  or  as  not  having  his  manner  ;  and  as  hav¬ 
ing  degrees  of  it,  more  and  less.  But  when  he 
comes  into  a  public  assembly,  he  sees  that  men 
have  very  different  manners  from  his  own,  and  in 
their  way  admirable.  In  his  childhood  and  youth, 
he  has  had  many  checks  and  censures,  and  thinks 
20 


230 


ESSAY  VIII. 


modestly  enough  of  his  own  endowment.  When 
afterwards  he  comes  to  unfold  it  in  propitious  cir¬ 
cumstance,  it  seems  the  only  talent :  he  is  delighted 
writh  his  success,  and  accounts  himself  already  the 
fellow  of  the  great.  But  he  goes  into  a  mob,  into 
a  banking  house,  into  a  mechanic’s  shop,  into  a 
mill,  into  a  laboratory,  into  a  ship,  into  a  camp,  and 
in  each  new  place  he  is  no  better  than  an  idiot : 
other  talents  take  place,  and  rule  the  hour.  The 
rotation  which  whirls  every  leaf  and  pebble  to  the 
meridian,  reaches  to  every  gift  of  man,  and  we  all 
take  turns  at  the  top. 

For  nature,  who  abhors  mannerism,  has  set  her 
heart  on  breaking  up  all  styles  and  tricks,  and  it  is 
so  much  easier  to  do  what  one  has  done  before, 
than  to  do  a  new  thing,  that  there  is  a  perpetual 
tendency  to  a  set  mode.  In  every  conversation, 
even  the  highest,  there  is  a  certain  trick,  which 
may  be  soon  learned  by  an  acute  person,  and  then 
that  particular  style  continued  indefinitely.  Each 
man,  too,  is  a  tyrant  in  tendency,  because  he  would 
impose  his  idea  on  others ;  and  their  trick  is  their 
natural  defence.  Jesus  would  absorb  the  race ; 
but  Tom  Paine  or  the  coarsest  blasphemer  helps 
humanity  by  resisting  this  exuberance  of  power. 
Hence  the  immense  benefit  of  party  in  politics,  as 
it  reveals  faults  of  character  in  a  chief,  which  the 
intellectual  force  of  the  persons,  with  ordinary 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


231 


opportunity,  and  not  hurled  into  aphelion  by  hatred, 
could  not  have  seen.  Since  we  are  all  so  stupid, 
what  benefit  that  there  should  be  two  stupidities ! 
It  is  like  that  brute  advantage  so  essential  to  astron¬ 
omy,  of  having  the  diameter  of  the  earth’s  orbit 
for  a  base  of  its  triangles.  Democracy  is  morose, 
and  runs  to  anarchy,  but  in  the  state,  and  in  .the 
schools,  it  is  indispensable  to  resist  the  consolida¬ 
tion  of  all  men  into  a  few  men.  If  John  was  per¬ 
fect,  why  are  you  and  I  alive  ?  As  long  as  any 
man  exists,  there  is  some  need  of  him ;  let  him 
fight  for  his  own.  A  new  poet  has  appeared ;  a 
new  character  approached  us ;  why  should  we  re¬ 
fuse  to  eat  bread,  until  we  have  found  his  regiment 
and  section  in  our  old  army-files  ?  Why  not  a  new 
man  ?  Here  is  a  new  enterprise  of  Brook  Farm,  of 
Skeneateles,  of  Northampton  :  why  so  impatient  to 
baptize  them  Essenes,  or  Port-Royalists,  or  Shak¬ 
ers,  or  by  any  known  and  effete  name  ?  Let  it  be 
a  new  way  of  living.  Why  have  only  two  or  three 
ways  of  life,  and  not  thousands?  Every  man 
is  wanted,  and  no  man  is  wanted  much.  We 
came  this  time  for  condiments,  not  for  corn.  We 
want  the  great  genius  only  for  joy ;  for  one  star 
more  in  our  constellation,  for  one  tree  more  in  o«.r 
grove.  But  he  thinks  we  wish  to  belong  to  him, 
as  he  wishes  to  occupy  us.  He  greatly  mistakes 
us.  I  think  I  have  done  well,  if  I  have  acquired  a 


232 


ESSAY  VIII. 


new  word  from  a  good  author;  and  my  business 
with  him  is  to  find  my  own,  though  it  were  only 
to  melt  him  down  into  an  epithet  or  an  image  for 
daily  use. 

“  Into  paint  will  I  grind  thee,  my  bride  !  ” 

To  embroil  the  confusion,  and  make  it  impossi¬ 
ble  to  arrive  at  any  general  statement,  when  we 
have  insisted  on  the  imperfection  of  individuals, 
our  affections  and  our  experience  urge  that  every 
individual  is  entitled  to  honor,  and  a  very  generous 
treatment  is  sure  to  be  repaid.  A  recluse  sees  only 
two  or  three  persons,  and  allows  them  all  their 
room  ;  they  spread  themselves  at  large.  The  states¬ 
man  looks  at  many,  and  compares  the  few  habitu¬ 
ally  with  others,  and  these  look  less.  Yet  are 
they  not  entitled  to  this  generosity  of  reception  ? 
and  is  not  munificence  the  means  of  insight  ?  For 
though  gamesters  say,  that  the  cards  beat  all  the 
players,  though  they  were  never  so  skilful,  yet  in 
the  contest  we  are  now  considering,  the  players 
are  also  the  game,  and  share  the  power  of  the 
cards.  If  you  criticise  a  fine  genius,  the  odds  are 
that  you  are  out  of  your  reckoning,  and,  instead  of 
the  poet,  are  censuring  your  own  caricature  of  him. 
For  there  is  somewhat  spheral  and  infinite  in 
every  man,  especially  in  every  genius,  which,  if 
you  can  come  very  near  him,  sports  with  all  your 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


233 


limitations.  For,  rightly,  every  man  is  a  channa 
through  which  heaven  floweth,  and,  whilst  I  fan¬ 
cied  I  was  criticising  him,  I  was  censuring  or 
rather  terminating  my  own  soul.  After  taxing 
Goethe  as  a  courtier,  artificial,  unbelieving,  world¬ 
ly, —  I  took  up  this  book  of  Helena,  and  found 
him  an  Indian  of  the  wilderness,  a  piece  of  pure 
nature  like  an  apple  or  an  oak,  large  as  morning  or 
night,  and  virtuous  as  a  brier-rose. 

But  care  is  taken  that  the  whole  tune  shall  be 
played.  If  we  were  not  kept  among  surfaces, 
everything  would  be  large  and  universal :  now  the 
excluded  attributes  burst  in  on  us  with  the  more 
brightness,  that  they  have  been  excluded.  “Your 
turn  now,  my  turn  next,”  is  the  rule  of  the  game. 
The  universality  being  hindered  in  its  primary 
form,  comes  in  the  secondary  form  of  all  sides : 
the  points  come  in  succession  to  the  meridian,  and 
by  the  speed  of  rotation,  a  new  whole  is  formed. 
Nature  keeps  herself  whole,  and  her  representation 
complete  in  the  experience  of  each  mind.  She 
suffers  no  seat  to  be  vacant  in  her  college.  It  is 
the  secret  of  the  world  that  all  things  subsist,  and 
do  not  die,  but  only  retire  a  little  from  sight,  and 
afterwards  return  again.  Whatever  does  not  con¬ 
cern  us,  is  concealed  from  us.  As  soon  as  a  person 
is  no  longer  related  to  our  present  well-being,  he  is 
concealed,  or  dies ,  as  we  say.  Really,  all  things 

20* 


234 


ESSAY  VIII. 


and  persons  are  related  to  us,  but  according  to  our 
nature,  they  act  on  us  not  at  once,  but  in  succes¬ 
sion,  and  we  are  made  aware  of  their  presence 
one  at  a  time.  AH  persons,  all  things  which  we 
have  known,  are  here  present,  and  many  more  than 
we  see  ;  the  world  is  full.  As  the  ancient  said,  the 
world  is  a  plenum  or  solid  ;  and  if  we  saw  all 
things  that  really  surround  us,  we  should  be  impris¬ 
oned  and  unable  to  move.  For,  though  nothing  is 
impassable  to  the  soul,  but  all  things  are  pervious 
to  it,  and  like  highways,  yet  this  is  only  whilst  the 
soul  does  not  see  them.  As  soon  as  the  soul  sees 
any  object,  it  stops  before  that  object.  Therefore, 
the  divine  Providence,  which  keeps  the  universe 
open  in  every  direction  to  the  soul,  conceals  all  the 
furniture  and  all  the  persons  that  do  not  concern  a 
particular  soul,  from  the  senses  of  that  individual. 
Through  solidest  eternal  things,  the  man  finds  his 
road,  as  if  they  did  not  subsist,  and  does  not  once 
suspect  their  being.  As  soon  as  he  needs  a  new 
object,  suddenly  he  beholds  it,  and  no  longer  at¬ 
tempts  to  pass  through  it,  but  takes  another  way. 
When  he  has  exhausted  for  the  time  the  nourish¬ 
ment  to  be  drawn  from  any  one  person  or  thing, 
that  object  is  withdrawn  from  his  observation,  and 
though  still  in  his  immediate  neighborhood,  he 
•  does  not  suspect  its  presence.  Nothing  is  dead  : 
men  feign  themselves  dead,  and  endure  mock  fune- 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


235 


rals  and  mournful  obituaries,  and  there  they  stand 
looking  out  of  the  window,  sound  and  well,  in 
some  new  and  strange  disguise.  Jesus  is  not  dead  : 
he  is  very  well  alive :  nor  John,  nor  Paul,  nor  Ma¬ 
homet,  nor  Aristotle  ;  at  times  we  believe  we  have 
seen  them  all,  and  could  easily  tell  the  names  un¬ 
der  which  they  go. 

If  we  cannot  make  voluntary  and  conscious 
steps  in  the  admirable  science  of  universals,  let  us 
see  the  parts  wisely,  and  infer  the  genius  of  nature 
from  the  best  particulars  with  a  becoming  charity. 
What  is  best  in  each  kind  is  an  index  of  what 
should  be  the  average  of  that  thing.  Love  shows 
me  the  opulence  of  nature,  by  disclosing  to  me 
in  my  friend  a  hidden  wealth,  and  I  infer  an  equal 
depth  of  good  in  every  other  direction.  It  is  com¬ 
monly  said  by  farmers,  that  a  good  pear  or  apple 
costs  no  more  time  or  pains  to  rear,  than  a  poor  one  ; 
so  I  would  have  no  work  of  art,  no  speech,  or  ac¬ 
tion,  or  thought,  or  friend,  but  the  best. 

The  end  and  the  means,  the  gamester  and  the 
game,  —  life  is  made  up  of  the  intermixture  and  re¬ 
action  of  these  two  amicable  powers,  whose  marriage 
appears  beforehand  monstrous,  as  each  denies  and 
tends  to  abolish  the  other.  We  must  reconcile  the 
contradictions  as  we  can,  but  their  discord  and 
their  concord  introduce  wild  absurdities  into  our 
thinking  and  speech.  No  sentence  will  hold  ths 


236 


ESSAY  VIII. 


whole  truth,  and  the  only  way  in  which  we  can  be 
just,  is  by  giving  ourselves  the  lie  ;  Speech  is  bet¬ 
ter  than  silence ;  silence  is  better  than  speech  ;  — 
All  things  are  in  contact  ;  every  atom  has  a  sphere 
of  repulsion;  —  Things  are,  and  are  not,  at  the 
same  time  ;  — and  the  like.  All  the  universe  over, 
there  is  but  one  thing,  this  old  Two-Face,  creator- 
creature,  mind-matter,  right-wrong,  of  which  any 
proposition  may  be  affirmed  or  denied.  Very  fitly, 
therefore,  I  assert,  that  every  man  is  a  partial  ist, 
that  nature  secures  him  as  an  instrument  by  self- 
conceit,  preventing  the  tendencies  to  religion  and 
science  ;  and  now  further  assert,  that,  each  man’s 
genius  being  nearly  and  affectionately  explored,  he 
is  justified  in  his  individuality,  as  his  natfire.is 
found  to  be  immense  ;  and  now  I  add,  that  every 
man  is  a  universalist  also,  and,  as  our  earth,  whilst 
it  spins  on  its  own  axis,  spins  all  the  time  around  the 
sun  through  the  celestial  spaces,  so  the  least  of  its 
rational  children,  the  most  dedicated  to  his  private 
affair,  works  out,  though  as  it  were  under  a  dis¬ 
guise,  the  universal  problem.  We  fancy  men  are 
individuals  ;  so  are  pumpkins  ;  but  every  pumpkin 
in  the  field,  goes  through  every  point  of  pumpkin 
history.  The  rabid  democrat,  as  soon  as  he  is  sen¬ 
ator  and  rich  man,  has  ripened  beyond  possibility 
of  sincere  radicalism,  and  unless  he  can  resist  the 
sun,  he  must  be  conservative  the  remainder  of  his 


N03IINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


237 


days.  Lord  Eldon  said  in  his  old  age,  “  that,  if  he 
were  to  begin  life  again,  he  would  be  damned  but 
he  would  begin  as  agitator.” 

Wc  hide  this  universality,  if  we  can,  but  it  ap¬ 
pears  at  all  points.  We  are  as  ungrateful  as  chil¬ 
dren.  There  is  nothing  we  cherish  and  strive  to 
draw  to  us,  but  in  some  hour  we  turn  and  rend  it. 
We  keep  a  running  fire  of  sarcasm  at  ignorance  and 
the  life  of  the  senses  ;  then  goes  by,  perchance,  a 
fair  girl,  a  piece  of  life,  gay  and  happy,  and  mak¬ 
ing  the  commonest  offices  beautiful,  by  the  energy 
and  heart  with  which  she  does  them,  and  seeing  this, 
we  admire  and  love  her  and  them,  and  say,  ‘  Lo  !  a 
genuine  creature  of  the  fair  earth,  not  dissipated,  or 
too  early  ripened  by  books,  philosophy,  religion,  so¬ 
ciety,  or  care  !  5  insinuating  a  treachery  and  con¬ 
tempt  for  all  we  had  so  long  loved  and  wrought  in 
Durselves  and  others. 

If  we  could  have  any  security  against  moods ! 
[f  the  profoundest  prophet  could  be  holden  to  his 
words,  and  the  hearer  who  is  ready  to  sell  all  and 
join  the  crusade,  could  have  any  certificate  that 
to-morrow  his  prophet  shall  not  unsay  his  testi¬ 
mony  !  But  the  Truth  sits  veiled  there  on  the 
Bench,  and  never  interposes  an  adamantine  syl¬ 
lable  ;  and  the  most  sincere  and  revolutionary  doc¬ 
trine,  put  as  if  the  ark  of  God  were  carried  forward 
some  furlongs,  and  planted  there  for  the  succor  of 


238 


ESSAY  VIII. 


the  world,  shall  in  a  few  weeks  be  coldly  set  aside 
by  the  same  speaker,  as  morbid ;  “  I  thought  I  was 
right,  but  I  was  not,” — and  the  same  immeasu¬ 
rable  credulity  demanded  for  new  audacities.  If 
we  were  not  of  all  opinions !  if  we  did  not  in  any 
moment  shift  the  platform  on  which  we  stand,  and 
look  and  speak  from  another!  if  there  could  be  any 
regulation,  any  ‘  one-hour-rule,’  that  a  man  should 
never  leave  his  point  of  view,  without  sound  of 
trumpet.  I  am  always  insincere,  as  always  know¬ 
ing  there  are  other  moods. 

How  sincere  and  confidential  we  can  be,  saying 
all  that  lies  in  the  mind,  and  yet  go  away  feeling 
that  all  is  yet  unsaid,  from  the  incapacity  of  the 
parties  to  know  each  other,  although  they  use  the 
same  words  !  My  companion  assumes  to  know  my 
mood  and  habit  of  thought,  and  we  go  on  from 
explanation  to  explanation,  until  all  is  said  which 
words  can,  and  we  leave  matters  just  as  they  were 
at  first,  because  of  that  vicious  assumption.  Is  it 
that  every  man  believes  every  other  to  be  an  in¬ 
curable  partialist,  and  himself  a  universalist  ?  I 
talked  yesterday  with  a  pair  of  philosophers  :  I 
endeavored  to  show  my  good  men  that  I  love 
everything  by  turns,  and  nothing  long ;  that  I 
loved  the  centre,  but  doated  on  the  superficies ; 
that  I  loved  man,  if  men  seemed  to  me  mice  and 
rats;  that  I  revered  saints,  but  woke  up  glad  that 


NOMINALIST  AND  REALIST. 


239 


the  old  pagan  world  stood  its  ground,  and  died 
hard ;  that  I  was  glad  of  men  of  every  gift  and 
nobility,  but  would  not  live  in  their  arms.  Could 
they  but  once  understand,  that  I  loved  to  know 
that  they  existed,  and  heartily  wished  them  God¬ 
speed,  yet,  out  of  my  poverty  of  life  and  thought, 
had  no  word  or  welcome  for  them  when  they  came 
to  see  me,  and  could  well  consent  to  their  living 
in  Oregon,  for  any  claim  I  felt  on  them,  it  would 
be  a  great  satisfaction. 


' 

■ 


.  . 

7  « 


* 


' 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


In  the  suburb,  in  the  town, 

On  the  railway,  in  the  square, 
Came  a  beam  of  goodness  down 
Doubling  daylight  everywhere  : 
Peace  now  each  for  malice  takes, 
Beauty  for  his  sinful  weeds, 

For  the  angel  Hope  aye  makes 
Him  an  angel  whom  she  leads. 


. 


' 


*  •  , 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


A  LECTURE  READ  BEFORE  THE  SOCIETY  IN  AMORY  HALL,  ON 
SUNDAY,  3  MARCH,  1844. 

Whoever  has  had  opportunity  of  acquaintance 
with  society  in  New  England,  during  the  last  twen¬ 
ty-five  years,  with  those  middle  and  with  those 
leading  sections  that  may  constitute  any  just  rep¬ 
resentation  of  the  character  and  aim  of  the  com¬ 
munity,  will  have  been  struck  with  the  great  ac¬ 
tivity  of  thought  and  experimenting.  His  atten¬ 
tion  must  be  commanded  by  the  signs  that  the 
Church,  or  religious  party,  is  falling  from  the 
church  nominal,  and  is  appearing  in  temperance 
and  non-resistance  societies,  in  movements  of  abo¬ 
litionists  and  of  socialists,  and  in  very  significant 
assemblies,  called  Sabbath  and  Bible  Conventions, 
—  composed  of  ultraists,  of  seekers,  of  all  the  soul 
of  the  soldiery  of  dissent,  and  meeting  to  call  in 
question  the  authority  of  the  Sabbath,  of  the 
priesthood,  and  of  the  church.  In  these  move¬ 
ments,  nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  dis-- 


244 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


content  they  begot  in  the  movers.  The  spirit  of 
protest  and  of  detachment,  drove  the  merpbers  of 
these  Conventions  to  bear  testimony  against  the 
church,  and  immediately  afterward,  to  declare  their 
discontent  with  these  Conventions,  their  independ¬ 
ence  of  their  colleagues,  and  their  impatience  of 
the  methods  whereby  they  were  working.  They 
defied  each  other,  like  a  congress  of  kings,  each  of 
whom  had  a  realm  to  rule,  and  a  way  of  his  own 
that  made  concert  unprofitable.  What  a  fertility 
of  projects  for  the  salvation  of  the  world !  One 
apostle  thought  all  men  should  go  to  farming ;  and 
another,  that  no  man  should  buy  or  sell j  that  the 
use  of  money  was  the  cardinal  evil ;  another,  that 
the  mischief  was  in  our  diet,  that  we  eat  and  drink 
damnation.  These  made  unleavened  bread,  and 
were  foes  to  the  death  to  fermentation.  It  was  in 
vain  urged  by  the  housewife,  that  God  made  yeast, 
as  well  as  dough,  and  loves  fermentation  just  as 
dearly  as  he  loves  vegetation  ;  that  fermentation 
develops  the  saccharine  element  in  the  grain,  and 
makes  it  more  palatable  and  more  digestible.  No  ; 
they  wish  the  pure  wheat,  and  will  die  but  it  shall 
not  ferment.  Stop,  dear  nature,  these  incessant 
advances  of  thine ;  let  us  scotch  these  ever-rolling 
wheels  !  Others  attacked  the  system  of  agriculture 
the  use  of  animal  manures  in  farming ;  and  the 
tyranny  of  man  over  brute  nature  ;  these  abuses 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


245 


polluted  his  food.  The  ox  must  be  taken  from  the 
plough,  and  the  horse  from  the  cart,  the  hundred 
acres  of  the  farm  must  be  spaded,  and  the  man 
must  walk  wherever  boats  and  locomotives  will  not 
carry  him.  Even  the  insect  world  was  to  be  de¬ 
fended,  —  that  had  been  too  long  neglected,  and  a 
society  for  the  protection  of  ground-worms,  slugs, 
and  mosquitos  was  to  be  incorporated  without  de¬ 
lay.  With  these  appeared  the  adepts  of  homoeop¬ 
athy,  of  hydropathy,  of  mesmerism,  of  phrenolo¬ 
gy,  and  their  wonderful  theories  of  the  Christian 
miracles  !  Others  assailed  particular  vocations,  as 
that  of  the  lawyer,  that  of  the  merchant,  of  the 
manufacturer,  of  the  clergyman,  of  the  scholar. 
Others  attacked  the  institution  of  marriage,  as  the 
fountain  of  social  evils.  Others  devoted  them¬ 
selves  to  the  worrying  of  churches  and  meetings 
for  public  worship ;  and  the  fertile  forms  of  anti- 
nomianism  among  the  elder  puritans,  seemed  to 
have  their  match  in  the  plenty  of  the  new  harvest 
of  reform. 

With  this  din  of  opinion  and  debate,  there  was 
a  keener  scrutiny  of  institutions  and  domestic  life 
than  any  we  had  known,  there  was  sincere  protest¬ 
ing  against  existing  evils,  and  there  were  changes 
of  employment  dictated  by  conscience.  No  doubt, 
there  was  plentiful  vaporing,  and  cases  of  backslid¬ 
ing  might  occur.  But  in  each  of  these  movements 

21 


246 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


emerged  a  good  result,  a  tendency  to  the  adoption 
of  simpler  methods,  and  an  assertion  of  the  suffi¬ 
ciency  of  the  private  man.  Thus  it  was  directly 
in  the  spirit  and  genius  of  the  age,  what  happened 
in  one  instance,  when  a  church  censured  and 
threatened  to  excommunicate  one  of  its  members, 
on  account  of  the  somewhat  hostile  part  to  the 
church,  which  his  conscience  led  him  to  take  in 
the  anti-slavery  business  ;  the  threatened  individual 
immediately  excommunicated  the  church  in  a  pub¬ 
lic  and  formal  process.  This  has  been  several  times 
repeated :  it  was  excellent  when  it  was  done  the 
first  time,  but,  of  course,  loses  all  value  when  it  is 
copied.  Every  project  in  the  history  of  reform, 
no  matter  how  violent  and  surprising,  is  good,  when 
it  is  the  dictate  of  a  man’s  genius  and  constitution, 
but  very  dull  and  suspicious  when  adopted  from 
another.  It  is  right  and  beautiful  in  any  man  to 
say,  T  will  take  this  coat,  or  this  book,  or  this 
measure  of  corn  of  yours,’  —  in  whom  we  see  the 
act  to  be  original,  and  to  flow  from  the  whole  spirit 
and  faith  of  him  ;  for  then  that  taking  will  have  a 
giving  as  free  and  divine :  but  we  are  very  easily 
disposed  to  resist  the  same  generosity  of  speech, 
when  we  miss  originality  and  truth  to  character 
in  it. 

There  was  in  all  the  practical  activities  of  New 
England,  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  a  gradual 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


247 


withdrawal  of  tender  consciences  from  the  social 
organizations.  There  is  observable  throughout, 
the  contest  between  mechanical  and  spiritual  meth¬ 
ods,  but  with  a  steady  tendency  of  the  thoughtful 
and  virtuous  to  a  deeper  belief  and  reliance  on  spir¬ 
itual  facts. 

In  politics,  for  example,  it  is  easy  to  see  the 
progress  of  dissent.  The  country  is  full  of  rebel¬ 
lion  ;  the  country  is  full  of  kings.  Hands  off !  let 
there  be  no  control  and  no  interference  in  the  ad¬ 
ministration  of  the  affairs  of  this  kingdom  of  me. 
Hence  the  growth  of  the  doctrine  and  of  the  party 
of  Free  Trade,  and  the  willingness  to  try  that 
experiment,  in  the  face  of  what  appear  incontesta¬ 
ble  facts.  I  confess,  the  motto  of  the  Globe  news¬ 
paper  is  so  attractive  to  me,  that  I  can  seldom  find 
much  appetite  to  read  what  is  below  it  in  its  col¬ 
umns,  u  The  world  is  governed  too  much.”  So 
the  country  is  frequently  affording  solitary  exam¬ 
ples  of  resistance  to  the  government,  solitary  nulli- 
fiers,  who  throw  themselves  on  their  reserved 
rights  ;  nay,  who  have  reserved  all  their  rights ; 
who  reply  to  the  assessor,  and  to  the  clerk  of  court, 
that  they  do  not  know  the  State ;  and  embarrass 
the  courts  of  law,  by  non-juring,  and  the  com¬ 
mander-in-chief  of  the  militia,  by  non-resistance. 

The  same  disposition  to  scrutiny  and  dissent 
appeared  in  civil,  festive,  neighborly,  and  domestic 


248 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


society.  A  restless,  prying,  conscientious  criticism 
broke  out  in  unexpected  quarters.  Who  gave  me 
the  money  with  which  I  bought  my  coat  ?  Why 
should  professional  labor  and  that  of  the  counting- 
house  be  paid  so  disproportionately  to  the  labor  of 
the  porter,  and  woodsawyer  ?  This  whole  business 
of  Trade  gives  me  to  pause  and  think,  as  it  consti¬ 
tutes  false  relations  between  men ;  inasmuch  as  I 
am  prone  to  count  myself  relieved  of  any  responsi¬ 
bility  to  behave  well  and  nobly  to  that  person 
whom  I  pay  with  money,  whereas  if  I  had  not 
that  commodity,  I  should  be  put  on  my  good 
behavior  in  all  companies,  and  man  would  be  a 
benefactor  to  man,  as  being  himself  his  only  certifi¬ 
cate  that  he  had  a  right  to  those  aids  and  services 
which  each  asked  of  the  other.  Am  I  not  too  pro¬ 
tected  a  person  ?  is  there  not  a  wide  disparity  be¬ 
tween  the  lot  of  me  and  the  lot  of  thee,  my  poor 
brother,  my  poor  sister?  Am  I  not  defrauded  of 
my  best  culture  in  the  loss  of  those  gymnastic? 
which  manual  labor  and  the  emergencies  of  poverty 
constitute  ?  I  find  nothing  healthful  or  exalting  in 
the  smooth  conventions  of  society ;  I  do  not  like 
the  close  air  of  saloons.  I  begin  to  suspect  myself 
to  be  a  prisoner,  though  treated  with  all  this  cour¬ 
tesy  and  luxury.  I  pay  a  destructive  tax  in  my 
conformity. 

The  same  insatiable  criticism  may  be  traced  in 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


249 


the  efforts  for  the  reform  of  Education.  The 
popular  education  has  been  taxed  with  a  want  of 
truth  and  nature.  It  was  complained  that  an  edu¬ 
cation  to  things  was  not  given.  We  are  students 
of  words  :  we  are  shut  up  in  schools,  and  colleges, 
and  recitation-rooms,  for  ten  or  fifteen  years,  and 
come  out  at  last  with  a  bag  of  wind,  a  memory  of 
words,  and  do  not  know  a  thing.  We  cannot  use 
our  hands,  or  our  legs,  or  our  eyes,  or  our  arms. 
We  do  not  know  an  edible  root  in  the  woods,  we 
cannot  tell  our  course  by  the  stars,  nor  the  hour  of 
the  day  by  the  sun.  It  is  well  if  we  can  swim  and 
skate.  We  are  afraid  of  a  horse,  of  a  cow,  of  a  dog, 
of  a  snake,  of  a  spider.  The  Roman  rule  was,  to 
teach  a  boy  nothing  that  he  could  not  learn  stand¬ 
ing.  The  old  English  rule  was,  ‘All  summer  in 
the  field,  and  all  winter  in  the  study.’  And  it  seems 
as  if  a  man  should  learn  to  plant,  or  to  fish,  or  to 
hunt,  that  he  might  secure  his  subsistence  at  all 
events,  and  not  be  painful  to  his  friends  and  fellow- 
men.  The  lessons  of  science  should  be  experi¬ 
mental  also.  The  sight  of  the  planet  through  a 
telescope,  is  worth  all  the  course  on  astronomy  : 
the  shock  of  the  electric  spark  in  the  elbow,  out¬ 
values  all  the  theories  ;  the  taste  of  the  nitrous 
oxide,  the  firing  of  an  artificial  volcano,  are  better 
than  volumes  of  chemistry. 

One  of  the  traits  of  the  new  spirit,  is  the  inqui- 


250 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


sition  it  fixed  on  our  scholastic  devotion  to  the  dead 
languages.  The  ancient  languages,  with  great 
beauty  of  structure,  contain  wonderful  remains  of 
genius,  which  draw,  and  always  will  draw,  certain 
likeminded  men,  —  Greek  men,  and  Roman  men, 
in  all  countries,  to  their  study  ;  but  by  a  wonderful 
drowsiness  of  usage,  they  had  exacted  the  study  of 
all  men.  Once  (say  two  centuries  ago),  Latin 
and  Greek  had  a  strict  relation  to  all  the  science  and 
culture  there  was  in  Europe,  and  the  Mathematics 
had  a  momentary  importance  at  some  era  of  activity 
in  physical  science.  These  things  became  stereo¬ 
typed  as  education ,  as  the  manner  of  men  is.  But  the 
Good  Spirit  never  cared  for  the  colleges,  and  though 
all  men  and  boys  were  now  drilled  in  Latin,  Greek, 
and  Mathematics,  it  had  quite  left  these  shells  high 
and  dry  on  the  beach,  and  was  now  creating  and  feed  - 
ing  other  matters  at  other  ends  of  the  world.  Bu¬ 
rn  a  hundred  high  schools  and  colleges,  this  warfare 
against  common  sense  still  goes  on.  Four,  or  six, 
or  ten  years,  the  pupil  is  parsing  Greek  and  Latin, 
and  as  soon  as  he  leaves  the  University,  as  it  is  ludi¬ 
crously  styled,  he  shuts  those  books  for  the  last 
time.  Some  thousands  of  young  men  are  graduated 
at  our  colleges  in  this  country  every  year,  and  the 
persons  who,  at  forty  years,  still  read  Greek,  can  all 
be  counted  on  your  hand.  I  never  met  with  ten. 
Four  or  five  persons  I  have  seen  who  read  Plato, 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


251 


But  is  not  this  absurd,  that  the  whole  liberal 
talent  of  this  country  should  be  directed  in  its 
best  years  on  studies  which  lead  to  nothing  ?  What 
was  the  consequence  ?  Some  intelligent  persons 
said  or  thought ;  ‘  Is  that  Greek  and  Latin  some 
spell  to  conjure  with,  and  not  words  of  reason  ?  If 
the  physician,  the  lawyer,  the  divine,  never  use  it 
to  come  at  their  ends,  I  need  never  learn  it  to  come 
at  mine.  Conjuring  is  gone  out  of  fashion,  and  I 
will  omit  this  conjugating,  and  go  straight  to  af¬ 
fairs.’  So  they  jumped  the  Greek  and  Latin,  and 
read  law,  medicine,  or  sermons,  without  it.  To 
the  astonishment  of  all,  the  self-made  men  took 
even  ground  at  once  with  the  oldest  of  the  regular 
graduates,  and  in  a  few  months  the  most  conserva¬ 
tive  circles  of  Boston  and  New  York  had  quite 
forgotten  who  of  their  gownsmen  was  college- 
bred,  and  who  was  not. 

One  tendency  appears  alike  in  the  philosophical 
speculation,  and  in  the  rudest  democratical  move¬ 
ments,  through  all  the  petulance  and  all  the  pue¬ 
rility,  the  wish,  namely,  to  cast  aside  the  super¬ 
fluous,  and  arrive  at  short  methods,  urged,  as  I 
suppose,  by  an  intuition  that  the  human  spirit  is 
equal  to  all  emergencies,  alone,  and  that  man  is 
more  often  injured  than  helped  by  the  means  he 
uses. 

I  conceive  this  gradual  casting  off  of  material 


252 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


aids,  and  the  indication  of  growing  trust  in  the 
private,  self-supplied  powers  of  the  individual,  to 
be  the  affirmative  principle  of  the  recent  philos¬ 
ophy  :  and  that  it  is  feeling  its  own  profound  truth, 
and  is  reaching  forward  at  this  very  hour  to  the 
happiest  conclusions.  I  readily  concede  that  in 
this,  as  in  every  period  of  intellectual  activity, 
there  has  been  a  noise  of  denial  and  protest ;  much 
was  to  be  resisted,  much  was  to  be  got  rid  of  by 
those  who  were  reared  in  the  old,  before  they  could 
begin  to  affirm  and  to  construct.  Many  a  reformer 
perishes  in  his  removal  of  rubbish,  —  and  that 
makes  the  offensiveness  of  the  class.  They  are 
partial ;  they  are  not  equal  to  the  work*  they  pre¬ 
tend.  They  lose  their  way  ;  in  the  assault  on  the 
kingdom  of  darkness,  they  expend  all  their  energy 
on  some  accidental  evil,  and  lose  their  sanity  and 
power  of  benefit.  It  is  of  little  moment  that  one  or 
two,  or  twenty  errors  of  our  social  system  be  cor¬ 
rected,  but  of  much  that  the  man  be  in  his  senses. 

The  criticism  and  attack  on  institutions  which 
we  have  witnessed,  has  made  one  thing  plain,  that 
society  gains  nothing  whilst  a  man,  not  himself 
renovated,  attempts  to  renovate  things  around  him : 
he  has  become  tediously  good  in  some  particular, 
but  negligent  or  narrow  in  the  rest ;  and  hypocrisy 
and  vanity  are  often  the  disgusting  result. 

It  is  handsomer  to  remain  in  the  establishment 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


253 


better  than  the  establishment,  and  conduct  that 
in  the  best  manner,  than  to  make  a  sally  against 
evil  by  some  single  improvement,  without  sup¬ 
porting  it  by  a  total  regeneration.  Do  not  be  so 
vain  of  your  one  objection.  Do  you  think  there 
is  only  one  ?  Alas !  my  good  friend,  there  is  no 
part  of  society  or  of  life  better  than  any  other 
part.  All  our  things  are  right  and  wrong  to¬ 
gether.  The  wave  of  evil  washes  all  our  insti¬ 
tutions  alike.  Do  you  complain  of  our  Marriage  ? 
Our  marriage  is  no  worse  than  our  education,  our 
diet,  our  trade,  our  social  customs.  Do  you  complain 
of  the  laws  of  Property  ?  It  is  a  pedantry  to  give 
such  importance  to  them.  Can  we  not  play  the  game 
of  life  with  these  counters,  as  well  as  with  those  ; 
in  the  institution  of  property,  as  well  as  out  of  it. 
Let  into  it  the  new  and  renewing  principle  of  love, 
and  property  will  be  universality.  No  one  gives 
the  impression  of  superiority  to  the  institution, 
which  he  must  give  who  will  reform  it.  It  makes 
no  difference  what  you  say :  you  must  make  me 
feel  that  you  are  aloof  from  it ;  by  your  natural 
and  supernatural  advantages,  do  easily  see  to  the 
end  of  it,  —  do  see  how  man  can  do  without  it. 
Now  all  men  are  on  one  side.  No  man  deserves 
to  be  heard  against  property.  Only  Love,  only  an 
Idea,  is  against  property,  as  we  hold  it. 

I  cannot  afford  to  be  hritable  and  captious,  nor 
22 


254 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


to  waste  all  my  time  in  attacks.  If  I  should  go 
out  of  church  whenever  I  hear  a  false  sentiment, 
I  could  never  stay  there  five  minutes.  But  why 
come  out  ?  the  street  is  as  false  as  the  church,  and 
when  I  get  to  my  house,  or  to  my  manners,  or 
to  my  speech,  I  have  not  got  away  from  the  lie. 
When  we  see  an  eager  assailant  of  one  of  these 
wrongs,  a  special  reformer,  we  feel  like  asking  him, 
What  right  have  you,  sir,  to  your  one  virtue  ?  Is 
virtue  piecemeal  ?  This  is  a  jewel  amidst  the  rags 
of  a  beggar. 

In  another  way  the  right  will  be  vindicated.  In 
the  midst  of  abuses,  in  the  heart  of  cities,  in  the 
aisles  of  false  churches,  alike  in  one  place  and  in 
another,  —  wherever,  namely,  a  just  and  heroic  soul 
finds  itself,  there  it  will  do  what  is  next  at  hand, 
and  by  the  new  quality  of  character  it  shall  put 
forth,  it  shall  abrogate  that  old  condition,  law  or 
school  in  which  it  stands,  before  the  law  of  its 
own  mind. 

If  partiality  was  one  fault  of  the  movement  par¬ 
ty,  the  other  defect  was  their  reliance  on  Associa¬ 
tion.  Doubts  such  as  those  I  have  intimated, 
drove  many  good  persons  to  agitate  the  questions  of 
social  reform.  But  the  revolt  against  the  spirit  of 
commerce,  the  spirit  of  aristocracy,  and  the  invet¬ 
erate  abuses  of  cities,  did  not  appear  possible  to 
individuals  ;  and  to  do  battle  against  numbers,  they 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS.  255 

1 

armed  themselves  with  numbers,  and  against  con¬ 
cert,  they  relied  on  new  concert. 

Following,  or  advancing  beyond  the  ideas  of 
St.  Simon,  of  Fourier,  and  of  Owen,  three  com¬ 
munities  have  already  been  formed  in  Massachusetts 
on  kindred  plans,  and  many  more  in  the  country 
at  large.  They  aim  to  give  every  member  a  share 
in  the  manual  labor,  to  give  an  equal  reward  to 
labor  and  to  talent,  and  to  unite  a  liberal  culture 
with  an  education  to  labor.  The  scheme  offers, 
by  the  economies  of  associated  labor  and  expense, 
to  make  every  member  rich,  on  the  same  amount 
of  property,  that,  in  separate  families,  would  leave 
every  member  poor.  These  new  associations  are 
composed  of  men  and  women  of  superior  talents 
and  sentiments :  yet  it  may  easily  be  questioned, 
whether  such  a  community  will  draw,  except  in 
its  beginnings,  the  able  and  the  good  ;  whether 
those  who  have  energy,  will  not  prefer  their  chance 
of  superiority  and  power  in  the  world,  to  the  hum¬ 
ble  certainties  of  the  association ;  whether  such  a 
retreat  does  not  promise  to  become  an  asylum  to 
those  who  have  tried  and  failed,  rather  than  a  field 
to  the  strong ;  and  whether  the  members  will  not 
necessarily  be  fractions  of  men,  because  each  finds 
that  he  cannot  enter  it,  without  some  compromise. 
Friendship  and  association  are  very  fine  things, 
and  a  grand  phalanx  of  the  best  of  the  human 


256 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


race,  banded  for  some  catholic  object:  yes,  excel¬ 
lent  ;  but  remember  that  no  society  can  ever  be  so 
large  as  one  man.  He  in  his  friendship,  in  his 
natural  and  momentary  associations,  doubles  or 
multiplies  himself ;  but  in  the  hour  in  which  he 
mortgages  himself  to  two  or  ten  or  twenty,  he  dwarfs 
himself  below  the  stature  of  one. 

But  the  men  of  less  faith  could  not  thus  believe, 
and  to  such,  concert  appears  the  sole  specific  of 
strength.  I  have  failed,  and  you  have  failed,  but 
perhaps  together  we  shall  not  fail.  Our  housekeep¬ 
ing  is  not  satisfactory  to  us,  but  perhaps  a  phalanx, 
a  community,  might  be.  Many  of  us  have  differed 
in  opinion,  and  we  could  find  no  man  who  could 
make  the  truth  plain,  but  possibly  a  college,  or  an 
ecclesiastical  council  might.  I  have  not  been  able 
either  to  persuade  my  brother  or  to  prevail  on  my¬ 
self,  to  disuse  the  traffic  or  the  potation  of  brandy, 
but  perhaps  a  pledge  of  total  abstinence  might 
effectually  restrain  us.  The  candidate  my  party 
votes  for  is  not  to  be  trusted  with  a  dollar,  but  he 
will  be  honest  in  the  Senate,  for  we  can  bring  pub¬ 
lic  opinion  to  bear  on  him.  Thus  concert  was  the 
specific  in  all  cases.  But  concert  is  neither  better 
nor  worse,  neither  more  nor  less  potent  than  indi¬ 
vidual  force.  All  the  men  in  the  world  cannot 
make  a  statue  walk  and  speak,  cannot  make  a  drop 
of  blood,  or  a  blade  of  grass,  any  more  than  one 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


2  57 


man  can.  Bnt  let  there  be  one  man,  let  there  be 
truth  in  two  men,  in  ten  men,  then  is  concert  for 
the  first  time  possible,  because  the  force  which 
moves  the  world  is  a  new  quality,  and  can  never 
he  furnished  by  adding  whatever  quantities  of  a 
different  kind.  What  is  the  use  of  the  concert  of 
the  false  and  the  disunited  ?  There  can  be  no  con- 
cert  in  two,  where  there  is  no  concert  in  one. 
When  the  individual  is  not  individual ,  but  is  dual  ; 
when  his  thoughts  look  one  way,  and  his  actions 
another  ;  when  his  faith  is  traversed  by  his  habits  ; 
when  his  will,  enlightened  by  reason,  is  warped  by 
his  sense  ;  when  with  one  hand  he  rows,  and  with 
the  other  backs  water,  what  concert  can  be  ? 

I  do  not  wonder  at  the  interest  these  projects 
inspire.  The  world  is  awaking  to  the  idea  of 
union,  and  these  experiments  show  what  it  is  think¬ 
ing  of.  It  is  and  will  be  magic.  Men  will  live 
and  communicate,  and  plough,  and  reap,  and  gov¬ 
ern,  as  by  added  ethereal  power,  when  once  they 
are  united  ;  as  in  a  celebrated  experiment,  by  ex¬ 
piration  and  respiration  exactly  together,  four  per¬ 
sons  lift  a  heavy  man  from  the  ground  by  the  little 
finger  only,  and  without  sense  of  weight.  But  this 
union  must  be  inward,  and  not  one  of  covenants, 
and  is  to  be  reached  by  a  reverse  of  the  methods  they 
use.  The  union  is  only  perfect,  when  all  the  uniters 
are  isolated.  It  is  the  union  of  friends  who  live  in 
22 


258 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


different  streets  or  towns.  Each  man,  if  he  attempts 
to  join  himself  to  others,  is  on  all  sides  cramped 
and  diminished  of  his  proportion ;  and  the  stricter 
the  union,  the  smaller  and  the  more  pitiful  he  is. 
But  leave  him  alone,  to  recognize  in  every  hour 
and  place  the  secret  soul,  he  will  go  up  and  down 
doing  the  works  of  a  true  member,  and,  to  the 
astonishment  of  all,  the  work  will  be  done  with 
concert,  though  no  man  spoke.  Government  will 
be  adamantine  without  any  governor.  The  union 
must  be  ideal  in  actual  individualism. 

I  pass  to  the  indication  in  some  particulars  of 
that  faith  in  man,  which  the  heart  is  preaching  to 
us  in  these  days,  and  which  engages  the  more  re¬ 
gard,  from  the  consideration,  that  the  speculations 
of  one  generation  are  the  history  of  the  next  fol¬ 
lowing. 

In  alluding  just  now  to  our  systefn  of  education, 
I  spoke  of  the  deadness  of  its  details.  But  it  is 
open  to  graver  criticism  than  the  palsy  of  its  mem¬ 
bers  :  it  is  a  system  of  despair.  The  disease  with 
which  the  human  mind  now  labors,  is  want  of  faith. 
Men  do  not  believe  in  a  power  of  education.  We 
do  not  think  we  can  speak  to  divine  sentiments  in 
man,  and  we  do  not  try.  We  renounce  all  high 
aims.  We  believe  that  the  defects  of  so  many  per¬ 
verse  and  so  many  frivolous  people,  who  make  up 
society,  are  organic,  and  society  is  a  hospital  of 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


2517 


incurables.  A  man  of  good  sense  but  of  little 
faith,  whose  compassion  seemed  to  lead  him  to 
church  as  often  as  he  went  there,  said  to  me ; 
“  that  he  liked  to  have  concerts,  and  fairs,  and 
churches,  and  other  public  amusements  go  on.” 
I  am  afraid  the  remark  is  too  honest,  and  comes 
from  the  same  origin  as  the  maxim  of  the  tyrant, 
“  If  you  would  rule  the  world  quietly,  you  must 
keep  it  amused.”  I  notice  too,  that  the  ground 
on  which  eminent  public  servants  urge  the  claims 
of  popular  education  is  fear :  1  This  country  is 
filling  up  with  thousands  and  millions  of  voters, 
and  you  must  educate  them  to  keep  them  from  our 
throats.’  We  do  not  believe  that  any  education, 
any  system  of  philosophy,  any  influence  of  genius, 
will  ever  give  depth  of  insight  to  a  superficial  mind. 
Having  settled  ourselves  into  this  infidelity,  our 
skill  is  expended  to  procure  alleviations,  diversion, 
opiates.  We  adorn  the  victim  with  manual  skill, 
his  tongue  with  languages,  his  body  with  inoffen¬ 
sive  and  comely  manners.  So  have  we  cunningly 
hid  the  tragedy  of  limitation  and  inner  death  we 
cannot  avert.  Is  it  strange  that  society  should 
be  devoured  by  a  secret  melancholy,  which  breaks 
through  all  its  smiles,  and  all  its  gayety  and  games? 

But  even  one  step  farther  our  infidelity  has  gone. 
It  appears  that  some  doubt  is  felt  by  good  and  wise 
men,  whether  really  the  happiness  and  probity  cf 


260 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


men  is  increased  by  the  culture  of  the  mind  in 
those  disciplines  to  which  we  give  the  name  of  educa¬ 
tion.  Unhappily,  too,  the  doubt  comes  from  schol¬ 
ars,  from  persons  who  have  tried  these  methods. 
In  their  experience,  the  scholar  was  not  raised  by 
the  sacred  thoughts  amongst  which  he  dwelt,  but 
used  them  to  selfish  ends.  He  was  a  profane  per¬ 
son,  and  became  a  showman,  turning  his  gifts  to  a 
marketable  use,  and  not  to  his  own  sustenance  and 
growth.  It  was  found  that  the  intellect  could  be 
independently  developed,  that  is,  in  separation  from 
the  man,  as  any  single  organ  can  be  invigorated, 
and  the  result  was  monstrous.  A  canine  appetite  for 
knowledge  was  generated,  which  must  still  be  fed, 
but  was  never  satisfied,  and  this  knowledge  not  be¬ 
ing  directed  on  action,  never  took  the  character  of 
substantial,  humane  truth,  blessing  those  whom  it 
entered.  It  gave  the  scholar  certain  powers  of 
expression,  the  power  of  speech,  the  power  of 
poetry,  of  literary  art,  but  it  did  not  bring  him  to 
peace,  or  to  beneficence. 

When  the  literary  class  betray  a  destitution  of 
faith,  it  is  not  strange  that  society  should  be  dis¬ 
heartened  and  sensualized  by  unbelief.  What  rem¬ 
edy  ?  Life  must  be  lived  on  a  higher  plane.  We 
must  go  up  to  a  higher  platform,  to  which  we  are 
always  invited  to  ascend  ;  there,  the  whole  aspect 
of  things  changes.  I  resist  the  skepticism  of  our 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


261 


education,  and  of  our  educated  men.  I  do  not  be¬ 
lieve  that  the  differences  of  opinion  and  character 
in  men  are  organic.  I  do  not  recognize,  beside  the 
class  of  the  good  and  the  wise,  a  permanent  class  of 
skeptics,  or  a  class  of  conservatives,  or  of  malig- 
nants,  or  of  materialists.  I  do  not  believe  in  two 
classes.  You  remember  the  story  of  the  poor  wo¬ 
man  who  importuned  King  Philip  of  Maced  on  to 
grant  her  justice,  which  Philip  refused  :  the  woman 
exclaimed,  “  I  appeal :  ”  the  king,  astonished,  asked 
to  whom  she  appealed :  the  woman  replied,  “  from 
Philip  drunk  to  Philip  sober.”  The  text  will  suit 
me  very  well.  I  believe  not  in  two  classes  of  men, 
but  in  man  in  two  moods,  in  Philip  drunk  and  Philip 
sober.  I  think,  according  to  the  good-hearted  word 
of  Plato,  “  Unwillingly  the  soul  is  deprived  of 
truth.”  Iron  conservative,  miser,  or  thief,  no  man 
is,  but  by  a  supposed  necessity,  which  he  tolerates 
by  shortness  or  torpidity  of  sight.  The  soul  lets 
no  man  go  without  some  visitations  and  holydays 
of  a  diviner  presence.  It  would  be  easy  to  show, 
by  a  narrow  scanning  of  any  man’s  biography,  that 
we  are  not  so  wedded  to  our  paltry  performances 
of  every  kind,  but  that  every  man  has  at  intervals 
the  grace  to  scorn  his  performances,  in  comparing 
them  with  his  belief  of  what  he  should  do,  that  he 
puts  himself  on  the  side  of  his  enemies,  listening 
gladly  to  what  they  say  of  him,  and  accusing  him¬ 
self  of  the  same  things. 


262 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


What  is  it  men  love  in  Genius,  but  its  infinite 
hope,  which  degrades  all  it  has  done  ?  Genius 
counts  all  its  miracles  poor  and  short.  Its  own 
idea  it  never  executed.  The  Iliad,  the  Hamlet, 
the  Doric  column,  the  Roman  arch,  the  Gothic 
minster,  the  German  anthem,  when  they  are  ended, 
the  master  casts  behind  him.  How  sinks  the  song 
in  the  waves  of  melody  which  the  universe  pours 
over  his  soul !  Before  that  gracious  Infinite,  out 
of  which  he  drew  these  few  strokes,  how  mean  they 
look,  though  the  praises  of  the  world  attend  them. 
From  the  triumphs  of  his  art,  he  turns  with  desire 
to  this  greater  defeat.  Let  those  admire  who  will. 
With  silent  joy  he  sees  himself  to  be  capable  of  a 
beauty  that  eclipses  all  which  his  hands  have  done, 
all  which  human  hands  have  ever  done. 

Well,  we  are  all  the  children  of  genius,  the  chil¬ 
dren  of  virtue, —  and  feel  their  inspirations  in  our 
happier  hours.  Is  not  every  man  sometimes  a 
radical  in  politics  ?  Men  are  conservatives  when 
they  are  least  vigorous,  or  when  they  are  most  luxu¬ 
rious.  They  are  conservatives  after  dinner,  or  be¬ 
fore  taking  their  rest  ;  when  they  are  sick,  or  aged  : 
in  the  morning,  or  when  their  intellect  or  their  con¬ 
science  have  been  aroused,  when  they  hear  music, 
or  when  they  read  poetry,  they  are  radicals.  In 
the  circle  of  the  rankest  tories  that  could  be  col¬ 
lected  in  England,  Old  or  New,  let  a  powerful  and 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


263 


stimulating  intellect,  a  man  of  great  heart  and  mind, 
act  on  them,  and  very  quickly  these  frozen  conser¬ 
vators  will  yield  to  the  friendly  influence,  these 
hopeless  will  begin  to  hope,  these  haters  will  begin 
to  love,  these  immovable  statues  will  begin  to  spin 
and  revolve.  I  cannot  help  recalling  the  fine  anec¬ 
dote  which  Warton  relates  of  Bishop  Berkeley, 
when  he  was  preparing  to  leave  England,  with  his 
plan  of  planting  the  gospel  among  the  American 
savages.  “  Lord  Bathurst  told  me,  that  the  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  Scriblerus  club,  being  met  at  his  house 
at  dinner,  they  agreed  to  rally  Berkeley,  who  was 
also  his  guest,  on  his  scheme  at  Bermudas.  Berke¬ 
ley,  having  listened  to  the  many  lively  things  they 
had  to  say,  begged  to  be  heard  in  his  turn,  and 
displayed  his  plan  with  such  an  astonishing  and 
animating  force  of  eloquence  and  enthusiasm,  that 
they  were  struck  dumb,  and,  after  some  pause,  rose 
up  all  together  with  earnestness,  exclaiming,  1  Let 
us  set  out  with  him  immediately.’  ”  Men  in  all 
ways  are  better  than  they  seem.  They  like  flat¬ 
tery  for  the  moment,  but  they  know  the  truth  for 
their  own.  It  is  a  foolish  cowardice  which  keeps 
us  from  trusting  them,  and  speaking  to  them  rude 
truth.  They  resent  your  honesty  for  an  instant, 
they  will  thank  you  for  it  always.  What  is  it  we 
heartily  wish  of  each  other?  Is  it  to  be  pleased 
and  flattered?  No,  but  to  be  convicted  and  ex- 


264 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


posed,  to  be  shamed  out  of  our  nonsense  of  all 
kinds,  and  made  men  of,  instead  of  ghosts  and 
phantoms.  We  are  weary  of  gliding  ghostlike 
through  the  world,  which  is  itself  so  slight  and 
unreal.  We  crave  a  sense  of  reality,  though  it 
come  in  strokes  of  pain.  I  explain  so,  —  by  this 
manlike  love  of  truth,  —  those  excesses  and  errors 
into  which  souls  of  great  vigor,  but  not  equal  in¬ 
sight,  often  fall.  They  feel  the  poverty  at  the 
bottom  of  all  the  seeming  affluence  of  the  world. 
They  know  the  speed  with  which  they  come 
straight  through  the  thin  masquerade,  and  conceive 
a  disgust  at  the  indigence  of  nature  :  Rousseau, 
Mirabeau,  Charles  Fox,  Napoleon,  Byron, — and  I 
could  easily  add  names  nearer  home,  of  raging 
riders,  who  drive  their  steeds  so  hard,  in  the  vio¬ 
lence  of  living  to  forget  its  illusion :  they  would 
know  the  worst,  and  tread  the  floors  of  hell.  The 
heroes  of  ancient  and  modern  fame,  Cimon,  The- 
mistocles,  Alcibiades,  Alexander,  Caesar,  have  treated 
life  and  fortune  as  a  game  to  be  well  and  skilfully 
played,  but  the  stake  not  to  be  so  valued,  but  that 
any  time,  it  could  be  held  as  a  trifle  light  as  air, 
and  thrown  up.  Caesar,  just  before  the  battle  of 
Pharsalia,  discourses  with  the  Egyptian  priest,  con¬ 
cerning  the  fountains  of  the  Nile,  and  offers  to  quit 
the  army,  the  empire,  and  Cleopatra,  if  he  will  show 
him  those  mysterious  sources. 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


265 


The  same  magnanimity  shows  itself  in  our 
social  relations,  in  the  preference,  namely,  which 
each  man  gives  to  the  society  of  superiors  over  that 
of  his  equals.  All  that  a  man  has,  will  he  give  for 
right  relations  with  his  mates.  All  that  he  has, 
will  he  give  for  an  erect  demeanor  in  every  com¬ 
pany  and  on  each  occasion.  He  aims  at  such 
things  as  his  neighbors  prize,  and  gives  his  days 
and  nights,  his  talents  and  his  heart,  to  strike  a 
good  stroke,  to  acquit  himself  in  all  men’s  sight  as 
a  man.  The  consideration  of  an  eminent  citizen, 
of  a  noted  merchant,  of  a  man  of  mark  in  his  pro¬ 
fession  ;  naval  and  military  honor,  a  general’s  com¬ 
mission,  a  marshal’s  baton,  a  ducal  coronet,  the 
laurel  of  poets,  and,  anyhow  procured,  the  acknowl¬ 
edgment  of  eminent  merit,  have  this  lustre  for  each 
candidate,  that  they  enable  him  to  walk  erect  and 
unashamed,  in  the  presence  of  some  persons,  before 
whom  he  felt  himself  inferior.  Having  raised  him¬ 
self  to  this  rank,  having  established  his  equality 
with  class  after  class,  of  those  with  whom  he  would 
live  well,  he  still  finds  certain  others,  before  whom 
he  cannot  possess  himself,  because  they  have  some¬ 
what  fairer,  somewhat  grander,  somewhat  purei, 
which  extorts  homage  of  him.  Is  his  ambition 
pure  ?  then,  will  his  laurels  and  his  possessions 
seem  worthless  :  instead  of  avoiding  these  men  who 
make  his  fine  gold  dim,  he  will  cast  all  behind  him, 
23 


266 


LECTURE  AT  AMORT  HALL. 


and  seek  their  society  only,  woo  and  embrace  this 
his  humiliation  and  mortification,  until  he  shall 
know  why  his  eye  sinks,  his  voice  is  husky,  and 
his  brilliant  talents  are  paralyzed  in  this  presence. 
He  is  sure  that  the  soul  which  gives  the  lie  to  all 
things,  will  tell  none.  His  constitution  will  not 
mislead  him.  If  it  cannot  carry  itself  as  it  ought, 
high  and  unmatchable  in  the  presence  of  any  man, 
if  the  secret  oracles  whose  whisper  makes  the  sweet¬ 
ness  and  dignity  of  his  life,  do  here  withdraw  and 
accompany  him  no  longer,  it  is  time  to  undervalue 
what  he  has  valued,  to  dispossess  himself  of  what 
he  has  acquired,  and  with  Caesar  to  take  in  his  hand 
the  army,  the  empire,  and  Cleopatra,  and  say,  “  All 
these  will  I  relinquish,  if  you  will  show  me  the 
fountains  of  the  Nile.”  Dear  to  us  are  those  who 
love  us  ;  the  swift  moments  we  spend  with  them 
are  a  compensation  for  a  great  deal  of  misery ;  they 
enlarge  our  life ;  —  but  dearer  are  those  who  reject 
us  as  unworthy,  for  they  add  another  life  :  they 
build  a  heaven  before  us,  whereof  we  had  not 
dreamed,  and  thereby  supply  to  us  new  powers  out 
of  the  recesses  of  the  spirit,  and  urge  us  to  new  and 
unattempted  performances. 

As  every  man  at  heart  wishes  the  best  and  net 
inferior  society,  wishes  to  be  convicted  of  his  error, 
and  to  come  to  himself,  so  he  wishes  that  the  same 
healing  should  not  stop  in  his  thought,  but  should 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


267 


penetrate  his  will  or  active  power.  The  selfish 
man  suffers  more  from  his  selfishness,  than  he  from 
whom  that  selfishness  withholds  some  important 
benefit.  What  he  most  wishes  is  to  be  lifted  to 
some  higher  platform,  that  he  may  see  beyond  his 
present  fear  the  transalpine  good,  so  that  his  fear, 
his  coldness,  his  custom  may  be  broken  up  like 
fragments  of  ice,  melted  and  carried  away  in  the 
great  stream  of  good  will.  Do  you  ask  my  aid  ? 
I  also  wish  to  be  a  benefactor.  I  wish  more  to  be 
a  benefactor  and  servant,  than  you  wish  to  be  served 
by  me,  and  surely  the  greatest  good  fortune  that 
could  befall  me,  is  precisely  to  be  so  moved  by  you 
that  I  should  say,  4  Take  me  and  all  mine,  and  use 
me  and  mine  freely  to  your  ends  ’  !  for,  I  could  not 
say  it,  otherwise  than  because  a  great  enlargement 
had  come  to  my  heart  and  mind,  which  made  me 
superior  to  my  fortunes.  Here  we  are  paralyzed 
with  fear  ;  we  hold  on  to  our  little  properties,  house 
and  land,  office  and  money,  for  the  bread  which 
they  have  in  our  experience  yielded  us,  although 
we  confess,  that  our  being  does  not  flow  through 
them.  We  desire  to  be  made  great,  we  desire  to 
be  touched  with  that  fire  which  shall  command 
this  ice  to  stream,  and  make  our  existence  a  bene¬ 
fit.  If  therefore  we  start  objections  to  your  pro¬ 
ject,  O  friend  of  the  slave,  or  friend  of  the  poor,  or 
of  the  race,  understand  well,  that  it  is  because  we 


268 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


wish  to  drive  you  to  drive  us  into  your  measures. 
We  wish  to  hear  ourselves  confuted.  We  are 
haunted  with  a  belief  that  you  have  a  secret,  which 
it  would  highliest  advantage  us  to  learn,  and  we 
would  force  you  to  impart  it  to  us,  though  it  should 
bring  us  to  prison,  or  to  worse  extremity. 

Nothing  shall  warp  me  from  the  belief,  that  every 
man  is  a  lover  of  truth.  There  is  no  pure  lie,  no 
pure  malignity  in  nature.  The  entertainment  of 
the  proposition  of  depravity  is  the  last  profligacy 
and  profanation.  There  is  no  skepticism,  no  athe¬ 
ism  but  that.  Could  it  be  received  into  common 
belief,  suicide  would  unpeople  the  planet.  It  has 
had  a  name  to  live  in  some  dogmatic  theology,  but 
each  man’s  innocence  and  his  real  liking  of  his 
neighbor,  have  kept  it  a  dead  letter.  I  remember 
standing  at  the  polls  one  day,  when  the  anger  of 
the  political  contest  gave  a  certain  grimness  to  the 
faces  of  the  independent  electors,  and  a  good  man 
at  my  side  looking  on  the  people,  remarked,  “  I  am 
satisfied  that  the  largest  part  of  these  men,  on  either 
side,  mean  to  vote  right.”  I  suppose,  considerate 
observers  looking  at  the  masses  of  men,  in  their 
blameless,  and  in  their  equivocal  actions,  will  assent, 
that  in  spite  of  selfishness  and  frivolity,  the  gen¬ 
eral  purpose  in  the  great  number  of  persons  is  fidel¬ 
ity.  The  reason  why  any  one  refuses  his  assent  to 
your  opinion,  or  his  aid  to  your  benevolent  design, 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


26$ 


is  in  you :  he  refuses  to  accept  you  as  a  bringer  of 
truth,  because,  though  you  think  you  have  it,  he 
feels  that  you  have  it  not.  You  have  not  given 
him  the  authentic  sign. 

If  it  were  worth  while  to  run  into  details  this 
general  doctrine  of  the  latent  but  ever  soliciting 
Spirit,  it  would  be  easy  to  adduce  illustration  in 
particulars  of  a  man’s  equality  to  the  church,  of 
his  equality  to  the  state,  and  of  his  equality  to 
every  other  man.  It  is  yet  in  all  men’s  memory, 
that,  a  few  years  ago,  the  liberal  churches  com¬ 
plained,  that  the  Calvinistic  church  denied  to  them 
the  name  of  Christian.  I  think  the  complaint  was 
confession  :  a  religious  church  would  not  complain. 
A  religious  man  like  Behmen,  Fox,  or  Sweden¬ 
borg,  is  not  irritated  by  wanting  the  sanction  of  the 
church,  but  the  church  feels  the  accusation  of  his 
presence  and  belief. 

It  only  needs,  that  a  just  man  should  walk  in 
our  streets,  to  make  it  appear  how  pitiful  and  inar¬ 
tificial  a  contrivance  is  our  legislation.  The  man 
whose  part  is  taken,  and  who  does  not  wait  for 
society  in  anything,  has  a  power  which  society 
cannot  choose  but  feel.  The  familiar  experiment, 
called  the  hydrostatic  paradox,  in  which  a  capillary 
column  of  water  balances  the  ocean,  is  a  symbol 
of  the  relation  of  one  man  to  the  whole  family  of 
men.  The  wise  Dandamis,  on  hearing  the  lives 

23  * 


270 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


of  Socrates,  Pythagoras,  and  Diogenes  read, 
“  judged  them  to  be  great  men  every  way,  except¬ 
ing,  that  they  were  too  much  subjected  to  the  rev* 
erence  of  the  laws,  which  to  second  and  authorize, 
true  virtue  must  abate  very  much  of  its  original 
vigor.” 

And  as  a  man  is  equal  to  the  church,  and  equal 
to  the  state,  so  he  is  equal  to  every  other  man. 
The  disparities  of  power  in  men  are  superficial ; 
and  all  frank  and  searching  conversation,  in  which 
a  man  lays  himself  open  to  his  brother,  apprizes 
each  of  their  radical  unity.  When  two  persons  sit 
and  converse  in  a  thoroughly  good  understanding, 
the  remark  is  sure  to  be  made,  See  how  we  have 
disputed  about  words  !  Let  a  clear,  apprehensive 
mind,  such  as  every  man  knows  among  his  friends, 
converse  with  the  most  commanding  poetic  genius, 
I  think,  it  would  appear  that  there  was  no  inequal¬ 
ity  such  as  men  fancy  between  them ;  that  a  per¬ 
fect  understanding,  a  like  receiving,  a  like  perceiv- 
ing,  abolished  differences,  and  the  poet  would  con¬ 
fess,  that  his  creative  imagination  gave  him  no  deep 
advantage,  but  only  the  superficial  one,  that  he 
could  express  himself,  and  the  other  could  not ; 
that  his  advantage  was  a  knack,  which  might  im¬ 
pose  on  indolent  men,  but  could  not  impose  on  lov¬ 
ers  of  truth ;  for  they  know  the  tax  of  talent,  or, 
what  a  price  of  greatness  the  power  of  expression 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


271 


too  often  pays.  I  believe  it  is  the  conviction  of 
the  purest  men,  that  the  net  amount  of  man  and 
man  does  not  much  vary.  Each  is  incomparably 
superior  to  his  companion  in  some  faculty.  His 
want  of  skill  in  other  directions,  has  added  to  his 
fitness  for  his  own  work.  Each  seems  to  have 
some  compensation  yielded  to  him  by  his  infirmity, 
and  every  hinderance  operates  as  a  concentration  of 
his  force. 

These  and  the  like  experiences  intimate,  that 
man  stands  in  strict  connection  with  a  higher  fact 
never  yet  manifested.  There  is  power  over  and 
behind  us,  and  we  are  the  channels  of  its  commu¬ 
nications.  We  seek  to  say  thus  and  so,  and  over 
our  head  some  spirit  sits,  which  contradicts  what 
we  say.  We  would  persuade  our  fellow  to  this 
or  that ;  another  self  within  our  eyes  dissuades 
him.  That  which  we  keep  back,  this  reveals.  In 
vain  we  compose  our  faces  and  our  words ;  it  holds 
uncontrollable  communication  with  the  enemy,  and 
he  answers  civilly  to  us,  but  believes  the  spirit. 
We  exclaim,  1  There’s  a  traitor  in  the  house  !’  but 
at  last  it  appears  that  he  is  the  true  man,  and  I  am 
the  traitor.  This  open  channel  to  the  highest  life 
is  the  first  and  last  reality,  so  subtle,  so  quiet,  yet 
so  tenacious,  that  although  I  have  never  expressed 
the  truth,  and  although  I  have  never  heard  the 
expression  of  it  from  any  other,  I  know  that  the 


272 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


whole  truth  is  here  for  me.  What  if  I  cannot 
answer  your  questions  ?  I  am  not  pained  that  I 
cannot  frame  a  reply  to  the  question,  What  is  the 
operation  we  call  Providence  ?  There  lies  the  un¬ 
spoken  thing,  present,  omnipresent.  Every  time 
we  converse,  we  seek  to  translate  it  into  speech, 
but  whether  we  hit,  or  whether  we  miss,  we  have 
the  fact.  Every  discourse  is  an  approximate  an¬ 
swer  :  but  it  is  of  small  consequence,  that  we  do 
not  get  it  into  verbs  and  nouns,  whilst  it  abides 
for  contemplation  forever. 

If  the  auguries  of  the  prophesying  heart  shall 
make  themselves  good  in  time,  the  man  who  shall 
be  born,  whose  advent  men  and  events  prepare  and 
foreshow,  is,sone  who  shall  enjoy  his  connection 
with  a  higher  life,  with  the  man  within  man  ;  shall 
destroy  distrust  by  his  trust,  shall  use  his  native  but 
forgotten  methods,  shall  not  take  counsel  of  flesh 
and  blood,  but  shall  rely  on  the  Law  alive  and  beau¬ 
tiful,  which  works  over  our  heads  and  under  our  feet. 
Pitiless,  it  avails  itself  of  our  success,  when  we 
obey  it,  and  of  our  ruin,  when  we  contravene  it. 
Men  are  all  secret  believers  in  it,  else,  the  word 
justice  would  have  no  meaning  :  they  believe  that 
the  best  is  the  true  ;  that  right  is  done  at  last  ;  or 
chaos  would  come.  It  rewards  actions  after  their 
nature,  and  not  after  the  design  of  the  agent. 
‘Work,’  it  saith  to  man,  ‘in  every  hour,  paid  or 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS. 


273 


.  unpaid,  see  only  that  thou  work,  and  thou  canst  not 
escape  the  reward :  whether  thy  work  be  fine  or 
coarse,  planting  corn,  or  writing  epics,  so  only  it  be 
honest  work,  done  to  thine  own  approbation,  it  shall 
earn  a  reward  to  the  senses  as  well  as  to  the 
thought  :  no  matter,  how  often  defeated,  you  are 
born  to  victory.  The  reward  of  a  thing  well  done, 
is  to  have  done  it.’ 

As  soon  as  a  man  is  wonted  to  look  beyond 
surfaces,  and  to  see  how  this  high  will  prevails 
without  an  exception  or  an  interval,  he  settles  him¬ 
self  into  serenity.  He  can  already  rely  on  the  laws 
of  gravity,  that  every  stone  will  fall  where  it  is  due  ; 
the  good  globe  is  faithful,  and  carries  us  securely 
through  the  celestial  spaces,  anxious  or  resigned : 
we  need  not  interfere  to  help  it  on,  and  he  will 
learn,  one  day,  the  mild  lesson  they  teach,  that  our 
own  orbit  is  all  our  task,  and  we  need  not  assist 
the  administration  of  the  universe.  Do  not  be  so 
impatient  to  set  the  town  right  concerning  the 
unfounded  pretensions  and  the  false  reputation  of 
certain  men  of  standing.  They  are  laboring  harder 
to  set  the  town  right  concerning  themselves,  and 
will  certainly  succeed.  Suppress  for  a  few  days 
your  criticism  on  the  insufficiency  of  this  or  that 
teacher  or  experimenter,  and  he  will  have  demon¬ 
strated  his  insufficiency  to  all  men’s  eyes.  In  like 
manner,  let  a  man  fall  into  the  divine  circuits,  and 


274 


LECTURE  AT  AMORY  HALL. 


he  is  enlarged.  Obedience  to  his  genius  is  the  only 
liberating  influence.  We  wish  to  escape  from  sub¬ 
jection,  and  a  sense  of  inferiority, — and  we  make 
self-denying  ordinances,  we  drink  water,  we  eat 
grass,  we  refuse  the  laws,  we  go  to  jail :  it  is  all 
in  vain  ;  only  by  obedience  to  his  genius ;  only  by 
the  freest  activity  in  the  way  constitutional  to  him, 
does  an  angel  seem  to  arise  before  a  man,  and  lead 
him  by  the  hand  out  of  all  the  wards  of  the  prison. 

That  which  befits  us,  embosomed  in  beauty  and 
wonder  as  we  are,  is  cheerfulness  and  courage,  and 
the  endeavor  to  realize  our  aspirations.  The  life 
of  man  is  the  true  romance,  which,  when  it  is 
valiantly  conducted,  will  yield  the  imagination  a 
higher  joy  than  anv  fiction.  All  around  us,  what 
powers  are  wrapped  up  under  the  coarse  mattings 
of  custom,  and  all  wonder  prevented.  It  is  so 
wonderful  to  our  neurologists  that  a  man  can  see 
without  his  eyes,  that  it  does  not  occur  to  them, 
that  it  is  just  as  wonderful,  that  he  should  see  with 
them  ;  and  that  is  ever  the  difference  between  the 
wise  and  the  unwise  :  the  latter  wonders  at  what 
is  unusual,  the  wise  man  wonders  at  the  usual. 
Shall  not  the  heart  which  has  received  so  much, 
trust  the  Power  by  which  it  lives  ?  May  it  not  quit 
other  leadings,  and  listen  to  the  Soul  that  has 
guided  it  so  gently,  and  taught  it  so  much,  secure 
that  the  future  will  be  worthy  of  the  past  ? 


. 


: 


■  s. « 


' 


, 


:  ’  ■ 


' 


■ 


- 


; 


’ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 


